Wesson took a swallow of her drink to fortify herself, then began. “When I was a teen, sometimes I’d sneak out of my bedroom window in our house and climb down a tree to meet a boyfriend. It was stupid, but I never got caught.”
“So?” What did that have to do with Imogen’s kidnapping?
“Livvy saw me once. She was only eleven then. I thought she was too young to understand what I was doing, but I was wrong. I made her promise not to tell our parents. She never did.”
“Okay.” Miranda still didn’t see the connection.
“A few years passed. I grew up, graduated high school. I still lived at home while I worked and went to community college. One night I came home late and saw Livvy climbing out my window and down that same tree.”
“Like big sister, like little sister.”
Nodding Wesson took another sip of ginger ale. “She wanted me to swear to the same secret. I tried to tell her it was different for me, but she saw through that. I don’t know what I was thinking. I guess I didn’t want to be the overbearing older sister, so I just let her go and promised I wouldn’t say anything to Mom and Dad.”
So she blamed herself for setting a bad example. Miranda frowned. “That still doesn’t make this case your fault.”
“Yes, it does.”
“How?”
“That was the night Olivia met Axel.”
“Oh.” Now she got it.
Jeez. Wesson must have carried this load of guilt around for years. And now it was only getting worse for her.
“Olivia made her own decision that night. She didn’t have to follow in your footsteps.”
Wesson just shook her head.
But Wesson certainly wasn’t responsible for how the jerk named Axel Cage had treated her sister. Only Axel was. Hard for some women to see that. And she wasn’t to blame for what happened to Imogen, either. The only person answerable for the kidnapping was the one who’d taken her.
Knowing she couldn’t convince Wesson of any of that, Miranda kept her mouth shut and studied the crowd again.
A voice came over a loud speaker. “And now for some real fun. Any volunteers?”
“We’re game.”
Lights swept over a stage at the far end of the room as two girls in sparkly dresses climbed a set of stairs to the platform, beer bottles in their hands. Music started. They giggled and poked each other.
Then they began to sing the words being flashed on a nearby wall. “I Feel the Earth Move.”
Yeah, Miranda did, too. Off-key karaoke. Just what her nerves needed.
Wesson gave her a nudge. “Maybe we should try that.”
“Not on your life.”
As the crowd began to cheer for the performers, Miranda’s gaze drifted to the pool table beyond the bar. Parker had wandered over there and was playing a game of 8-ball with a guy in a denim jacket. Holloway stood in a nearby corner looking on.
As he bent down aiming his cue, the guy’s long dark hair fell over his face. She could see tattoos on his arms.
Was that Axel? Had Parker found him?
She gave Wesson’s arm a punch. “Look over there.”
Wesson turned her head in the direction Miranda had indicated and sucked in a breath. “It’s him. Let’s go.”
They got up and squeezed through the tables of customers as fast as they could.
But as soon as they reached the area, Miranda saw there was trouble.
The guy in denim slammed a hand down on the table. “I say you’re cheating, asshole.”
Parker eyed him coolly. “You won the game.”
“The hell you say.”
The guy was as drunk as a skunk.
And now that she was close, Miranda saw his face was too pockmarked to be the man in the mug shot Becker had sent.
Coming around the end of the pool table, the long-haired guy flipped his cue stick and swung it at Parker like a bat—and Parker was the baseball.
Parker didn’t flinch. As the stick reached him, he grabbed it and used the momentum to swing both stick and player around.
The guy let go of the stick and tumbled into the corner, banging his head on a wooden divider.
A heavyset guy with a scraggly beard loomed up behind Parker. “Hey, fucker. You can’t do that.”
Parker turned to him, eyes dark and angry. “I just did. And my name isn’t fucker.”
“Oh yeah?” The big dude rushed him.
This time Parker met the assault with a lightning fast fist to the guy’s jawbone.
With a cry of pain, the jerk crumbled to the floor and rolled under the pool table.
“What are you doing?” Miranda hissed at him.
She was the one who always got caught up in bar fights.
Before Parker could answer, Miranda saw hair fly as another guy lunged toward him.
She got ready to attack, but before she could make a move, a big muscular arm crooked over her shoulder, going for a headlock. She spun around, raised her leg, and gave its owner a hard kick to the groin. He doubled over and joined his buddy under the pool table.
Suddenly there was shouting and bodies all over the place, as everyone started punching and kicking and screaming.
Another leather-clad dude rushed her. She socked him hard in the nose. Down he went with the others.
From the corner of her eye, she saw Wesson tussling with a bushy-headed dude who towered over her. Miranda was just about to reach for the switchblade in her pocket when an alarm went off.
Wah. Wah. Wah.
Oh, crap.
“Steele,” someone shouted.
It was Holloway, who’d just bloodied some guy’s nose. She looked up and saw him point to an Exit sign not far way.
Good idea.
She spotted Parker finishing off a particularly hairy dude. He nodded to her.
“Let’s go,” she shouted to Wesson.
They rushed out the back door, dodging the drunken patrons who were scrambling to get away from the impeding authorities. As people smelling of beer and cigarettes stumbled around her, Miranda looked around to get her bearings.
They had come out near the rear of the bar’s small parking lot. Parker was just behind her. Wesson and Holloway were at her other side.
As she caught her breath, she caught sight of two men smoking and having a private conversation next to one of the Harleys. A black-and-gold Sportster.
They hadn’t been involved in the fight.
But under the street light, somehow they seemed even rougher-looking than the characters they’d been tussling with. One was shorter than the other and on the chubby side. He wore an unflattering horizontal striped shirt under an open leather jacket. His jeans were stylishly ripped at the knees. His hair was bright lime green and framed his face in frizzy curls. He had a large hooked nose that was about as attractive as his hair color.
But it was the other guy who caught Miranda’s attention.
Tall and skinny, he wore black jeans and a sleeveless black leather vest. His stringy, straw-colored hair hung over his face as he stared down at the pavement beneath him.
And on his upper arms—were dragons.
He shifted his weight, turned his head toward the commotion around the bar, and spotted Miranda. Their gazes locked. She could barely make out a scar down the side of his face.
It was him.
The guy in Holloway’s sketch. She was sure of it.
He dropped his cigarette on the pavement and ground it out with his boot. The chubby guy moved away to a nearby sedan, and the dragon-guy mounted the Harley.
“It’s him,” Miranda whispered to Parker.
“And he saw us.”
“We’ve got to follow him,” Wesson hissed, shock evident in her voice. “He might lead us to where he’s holding Imogen.”
“Let’s go.” Miranda spun around, fought through the crowd with Parker and her two colleagues, and nearly raced down the hill to the Navigator.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Parker spun out
onto the side street and did some fancy maneuvers to avoid the pedestrians and cars hurrying away from the bar.
As they neared the main road, Miranda peered through the windshield. She caught a blur of the Sportster’s taillight.
“There he is. Heading west.”
Parker turned onto Culver and slowed, using the traffic to shield the Navigator from view.
The Harley was in the left lane. They were in the right.
Going about forty, they cruised past the upscale office buildings. Muscles tense, Miranda listened to the traffic noises around her. A silver sedan braked in front of them as a light up ahead turned red.
She sat back in her seat and let out a huff.
“Don’t worry, Steele,” Holloway said. “We’ve got him.”
Did they? Outside the bar, she’d been sure that was the guy in the drawing. Now, not so much. Maybe she just wanted to see that guy.
Parker read her doubts. “It was him. Or at least what Holloway drew from the little boy’s description.”
Good enough. Now, they couldn’t lose him.
The light turned and cars started to move again. A cranberry Audi zoomed past them. Parker held a steady speed. Lights from the landscaped median flickered on the pavement.
They drove past the movie studio, the park, and the museum. As they hit another light, a large SUV blocked her view.
“Damn,” Miranda muttered under her breath.
“I can see him,” Parker said in a reassuring tone.
They started to move again. But after the sluggish SUV made an unhurried turn down a side street, the Harley had disappeared.
“Where is he?”
Wesson leaned forward between the seats and pointed. “I see him. There. Right in front of that gas station.”
Half a block up the road. The guy had gained too much distance for her liking.
“Is he stopping to refuel?” Holloway wanted to know.
Parker’s gaze zeroed in on the guy. “I don’t think so.”
“He’s seen us,” Wesson moaned.
“No, he hasn’t,” Holloway insisted.
Before they could agree on that point, the Harley made a sudden left.
Parker swung into the lane and followed the turn just as the light turned red.
Miranda looked around.
They were in another residential section, similar to Olivia’s old neighborhood. Humble single family homes sat crammed together in scant front yards. Lots of stucco, fences, and palm trees. Everything seemed to be quiet and dark.
The dude on the Harley went two blocks down and turned left. He drove for several more blocks, then turned right onto a street named Elenda. After a short jaunt he turned right again.
Miranda ground her teeth. “He’s giving us the run around. And we don’t have the traffic to cover us here.”
“I was just about to adjust for that.”
Parker slowed and pulled over for a moment, letting the Harley get ahead about half a block. Then he pulled out again and followed at an easy pace.
They passed a ball field lit up by the street lamps. A couple of young guys were hanging around on the corner.
“Isn’t that the park we passed before?” Miranda said.
“I believe you’re correct.”
She folded her arms in disgust. Was this going to turn out to be a wild goose chase?
But the Harley kept on going. A few blocks later, it paused for a stop sign, then turned down another street.
Parker came to a halt and waited at the sign.
The Harley slowed and swung into a driveway. Parker waited another minute, then turned onto the road. About two houses down, he pulled over to the curb behind a black Nissan.
The driveway belonged to a small white single story home with a dark roof and a large gnarled tree in the front yard overhanging the street.
Easy Rider turned off his engine, chained his Harley it up to a fence, and headed for the front door. Before he reached it, lights came on in the living room. Then someone turned on the light at the front door.
The door opened and two tow-headed little boys ran out to greet the man.
“Daddy! Daddy!” they cried.
Miranda peered through the darkness. It was after midnight. A little late for kids to be up.
As the man picked the littlest boy up in his arms, a woman emerged from the house. She had on and gray sweatpants and a loose-fitting jersey. It was hard to tell from that distance, but she seemed young. Maybe in her late twenties. She was pretty and wore her light blond hair in a short sassy style, but it was messy. Like she’d been asleep.
She stood with her arms folded, an unwelcoming look on her face.
As the man reached her, he gave her a kiss on the cheek. She didn’t seem pleased, but he brushed past her and they all disappeared inside.
Miranda wrinkled her nose. “Married with kids?”
“Or he wants us to think so,” Parker said.
Wesson let out a deep sigh. “I don’t think Imogen’s in that house.”
“So what now, Steele?” Holloway sounded beyond frustrated.
Miranda stared at the house feeling numb. Were they being played? The guy on the Harley had clearly seen her—had seen all of them—back at the bar. But did he know they were following him?
In the backseat, Holloway was on his phone. “Looked up the address. This house is in the name of a Marie Applegate.”
“Anything else?”
“Can’t go any deeper with this app.”
She’d have to get Becker to look into it.
So what now? Should they sit here and stake out the house all night? What if she was wrong? A lot of people could fit that sketch of Holloway’s, and how accurate was it anyway? Was this just some ordinary dude who’d gone out and had a few beers, then had come home to his family?
Her head ached with doubt.
She looked over at Parker and saw nothing but hardness on his face. And a small cut on his lip from the bar fight.
Just as she opened her mouth to ask his opinion, Wesson’s phone went off.
They all jumped at the sound.
“Who is that?” Holloway snapped.
Wesson’s face looked pale in the shadows. “It’s Olivia.”
She answered it, listened a moment, then put her on speaker. “You’ve got to hear this.”
Olivia’s rattled voice filled the car. “Oh, my God. My God. I can’t stop shaking.”
“What is it, Olivia?” Parker said to her in a steady voice.
Miranda heard the poor woman take in deep breaths trying to calm herself.
And then she told them what was wrong.
“I just got another phone call from that awful mechanical voice.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
Forty minutes later Miranda was back in Olivia’s apartment, sitting in the same spot on the couch she’d occupied twenty-four hours ago.
Her team was gathered around the coffee table, staring down at Olivia’s cell phone.
“Play it again,” Miranda told her.
Her fingers still shaking Olivia pressed the button on the recording app Holloway had given her, and the creepy sounding voice came out of the phone’s speaker.
“Listen carefully and do exactly as I say. Go to Pacific Bank on Washington at ten o’clock tomorrow morning. Withdraw fifteen thousand dollars.”
Olivia’s response had also been recorded. “Fifteen thou—”
“Do it, or you’ll never see your daughter again.”
The line went dead.
Olivia’s hands flew to her face. “Oh my poor baby. My poor, poor baby. Where is she?”
Wesson put an arm around her sister and rubbed her back. “Keep it together, Livvy. We all have to. For Imogen.”
Olivia nodded, sucking back her tears. “What do I do?” Helplessly she looked at Miranda.
Miranda turned to Parker, met his gaze. His look was grim. She gave him a nod.
“Do what he said. Do you have the money?”
“We can assume he’ll call back with further instructions,” Parker said.
“I don’t know if I can stand another phone call.”
A wild look on her face, Wesson spun around on the couch. “You can’t give that creep your life savings, Livvy.”
Miranda felt Olivia bristle beside her.
“I’ll do whatever I have to to get my daughter back.”
“Calm down, both of you. At least we’ve got a recording now.” Miranda dug out her own phone and dialed Becker’s number.
“Hmm,” said a tired voice. “Who is this?”
“It’s me, Becker.”
She looked at the time on the kitchen clock. It was after four a.m. back in Atlanta. Becker must have gone to bed after sending the information on Axel Cage a few hours ago.
“Oh, right. Hey, Steele. Any news?”
Ignoring the sense of guilt for waking him up, she filled Becker in on what they’d done that night. Parker had already relayed the details of tonight’s excursion to Olivia, and she sat hugging herself, her face pale as she listened to them again.
“We’ve got a recording.” Miranda picked up Olivia’s phone. “Holloway, can you send this to Becker?”
“Sure thing.” Holloway took the cell and started pushing buttons.
“Any chance you can work on this now?” Miranda said to Becker.
“Of course. Heading for my office now. Everyone’s asleep, so it will be quiet.”
“I didn’t wake Fanuzzi, did I?”
“No. She was sleeping like a log, thank goodness. She’s exhausted.”
That didn’t make Miranda feel any better. She hated interrupting Becker’s family life right now. He had to be just as exhausted as Fanuzzi. But she needed him.
“How does this recording thing work?” she asked.
“I’ll take the file, run it through some software, play around with it until I get a recognizable voice.”
“Then what?”
“Then someone will have to recognize it.”
That was a heck of a missing piece. But if it was Axel calling, Olivia could do that. If her nerves held out.
“Okay. Let me know as soon as you get something.”
The Stolen Girl Page 10
