The Stolen Girl

by Linsey Lanier

  “Let some of the others check it out,” Parker said. “I don’t think anyone’s up there.”

  He was probably right.

  She holstered her weapon, radioed Sloan, and told him and Wesson to come inside. Then she notified the others.

  “Steele?” Wesson called out a moment later after she and Sloan had made their way inside.

  “We’re in the back.”

  She listened to the sound of their footsteps, and soon Wesson came through the door.

  “Eww.” She wrinkled her nose as she looked around the smelly unkempt room. Then she started for the dresser and began the same examination Miranda had just done.

  After another minute or two everyone else appeared, crowding the doorway.

  “There’s no activity out front,” Sloan reported, slipping his gun into his shoulder holster.

  He didn’t seem upset about how they’d entered the house, though it didn’t matter much now.

  Becker’s face appeared behind the g-man with Holloway at his side.

  “None in the back, either,” Holloway said.

  Miranda pointed to the open door. “There’s a staircase here. Why don’t you and Becker see what’s up there.”

  “Will do,” Holloway said.

  And he and Becker hurried around the mattress and through the door. A moment later she heard the ceiling groan under their footsteps.

  Wesson crossed the room and opened the closet. “Somebody cleaned out their things and left.”

  She turned and glared at Sloan.

  “Let’s go back to the front. Maybe we missed something.” Miranda moved through the door and down the hall without waiting for an answer.

  Wesson shot past her and headed for the kitchen. She opened the refrigerator. “There’s grass fed milk in here. And organic oranges and grapes. Lunchmeats and the kind of Swiss cheese Olivia buys.” She opened the milk carton and sniffed. “It’s fresh.”

  Holloway and Becker returned, clomping down the hall.

  “Nothing upstairs but dusty boxes and cobwebs,” Becker said. “Looks like it’s used for storage.”

  “Here’s one thing they were storing.” Holloway held up a small plastic bag filled with an ash gray substance.

  Miranda grimaced. “Weed.”

  “Let me have that.” Sloan snatched the bag out of Holloway’s hand, claiming jurisdiction.

  “Were they giving that to Imogen?” Wesson sounded a bit hysterical.

  Miranda didn’t blame her, but they had to keep their heads. “We don’t know that. We don’t know anything for sure.”

  Wesson’s green eyes flashed. “Of course, we do, Steele. We know plenty.” With a hateful look she turned to Sloan. “Somehow that woman you brought in for questioning tipped Draco off and now he’s gone. And Imogen’s gone with him.”

  “Marie Applegate is still being held at the office,” Sloan told her.

  “He’s right. Marie couldn’t have told Draco anything.” But the weight of Wesson’s words pounded in Miranda’s brain.

  Unless Marie had lied to them, this was Draco’s house. And whoever had been living here was gone.

  In the wind.

  They had no clue where to find him. Or the little girl.

  Feeling as if the walls were closing in on her, Miranda marched into the living room and stared at the TV, the old furniture, the air mattress on its end leaning against the couch. How were they going to find Draco? Where would they even start?

  And then her gaze focused on a piece of paper on the floor sticking out from under the mattress. It looked like lined paper. Was that what she thought it was? She reached down for it just as Wesson and the others came into the room.

  “What is that?” Wesson demanded, hurrying over to her to read over her shoulder.

  But Miranda couldn’t speak. All she could do was stare down at the paper feeling the way she had on a cold wintry morning years ago when she’d woken up to an empty crib.

  In her hand was homework. The title was printed across the top in a neat childish handwriting.

  “What I Want to Be When I Grow Up.”

  The words talked about how much the writer loved animals and wanted to become a veterinarian. Miranda didn’t need to guess who the paper belonged to. In the upper left-hand corner in the same script, the child had written her name.

  Imogen Wesson.

  “She was here,” Wesson cried. “This was where he was hiding her. And now they’re gone.” She spun around to Sloan. “This is all your fault. What kind of an FBI agent are you?”

  She lunged at him

  Sloan put up his hands. “Hey, Red. Calm down.”

  “Red? I’ll show you red.” Wesson rushed him, gave him a hard shove against his chest, and knocked him into one of the armchairs. The bag of weed fell to the floor.

  Wesson raised a fist, ready to slug the guy in the face, but Parker caught her arm in time. “This isn’t doing us any good, Janelle.”

  “It’s not his fault,” Miranda agreed.

  She might not care for Sloan, but he was right. Marie couldn’t have been the one to warn Draco they were heading for his house.

  As if coming to herself, Wesson pulled out of Parker’s grasp and looked around the room at the faces staring at her. Looking mortified, she hurried across the room, kicked away the air mattress, sank onto the couch and burst into tears.

  The sound of her cries tore Miranda’s heart to shreds.

  She picked up the mattress, handed it to Parker. Then she sat down next to her and put an arm around her colleague. As Wesson buried her face in her shoulder, Miranda let her sobs reverberate through her body. She wanted to tell her it was all right. That it would be okay. That they would find Imogen eventually.

  But she couldn’t find the heart to lie to her.

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Axel stood outside the cheap motel room smoking a cigarette and watching the traffic through the gap between the building across the parking lot and the check-in stand.

  The sun was starting to set. The sky was getting dark, turning the tall palm trees along the street to ghostly shadows.

  He had a bad feeling about all this. He was irritated and worried, but most of all he was tired of Draco’s games.

  As if summoned by the thought, the old tan Cutlass Ciera with the dent in its side turned into the lot, drove to a spot next to where the black-and-gold Sportster was chained to a pole, and stopped. After a minute Draco got out, a small package in his hand.

  “I thought you were going to In and Out.”

  “Later, maybe.” He came over to where Axel stood, set the package on the window sill, and pointed at the cigarette. “Got one of those for me?”

  Disgusted, Axel reached into his pocket and pulled one out. He handed it to Draco and watched him light it.

  He looked happy, like he was in complete control. He wasn’t.

  “Are you going to tell me what the hell’s going on?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Why did we have to pack up and leave all of a sudden? What are we doing in this place? This wasn’t the plan.”

  Draco took a long drag of the cigarette and blew the smoke out in a steady stream. “You should be congratulating me on how smart I am.”

  “Why?”

  He grinned and flicked ashes onto the sidewalk. “For good measure, I put a tail on Marie this morning.”

  “Marie? Why?”

  “Listen and you’ll understand why. I had Crow follow her to work and watch her. At first, all was normal, routine. People going into the office, people going out.”

  “To see the dentist.”

  “Right. Then a little before one, here comes Marie out the side door, on her way to lunch. And Crow spots this guy in a black suit on the sidewalk. He goes straight up to her. They talk a bit. Then the suit takes her arm, escorts her to a black van, and they drive off.”

  Axel stared at him in disbelief. “Was it one of the detectives?”

  Draco shook his head
.

  “Plain clothes cop?”

  “Maybe. Crow thinks it was the FBI.”

  Axel felt a sudden coldness in his gut. “FBI? What did the damn FBI want with Marie? Are they onto us?”

  “Doesn’t matter. We’re covered. Besides, I’m bringing in a couple of the Skulls tonight for extra backup.”

  And to make sure Axel did as he was told. But what if the FBI showed up? “Hells bells, Draco. We’re in too deep on this one.”

  Draco scoffed. “Don’t worry, man. That’s why we’re here.” He waved his cigarette at the motel room behind them. “If Marie gave the Feds my address, they’ll never find us in this place.”

  Axel drew in a breath. He wasn’t so sure about that. He’d never been involved with the FBI before. The organization had protected him for years, kept him out of jail a bunch of times. Even erased some of his records. But all that only went so far.

  He shook his head. “I don’t know, Draco.”

  Draco’s face turned cold. “Are you getting cold feet, Axel?”

  “No, no. I just don’t want to go to federal prison.”

  “It’ll all be okay. I’ve triple checked the shooting schedule. No one else will be there. Everything’s going to go as smooth as a baby’s ass. It’ll all be over soon.”

  Not sure whether to believe him, he dropped his cigarette and ground it out on the concrete. “I’m worried about the kid. She’s sick. She must have picked up something at the thrift store.”

  “I told you not to take her shopping.”

  “Had to do something. She needed clothes.”

  “Well, you’re in luck. I picked up something for her.” Draco reached for the package he’d lain on the window frame and opened it. He drew out a dark red bottle with a printed label.

  Axel squinted down at it. It was a prescription. Draco had to have pulled some strings to get it. “Cough syrup? With codeine? Isn’t that too strong?”

  Draco took a big drag of his cigarette. “It’ll keep her quiet. You should give her some now.”

  “Now?”

  “Right now.”

  Axel knew what that meant. Draco’s plan would be going down soon. He didn’t know all the details of it, but he knew it probably wouldn’t be as easy to execute as Draco thought.

  Draco leaned in close to him and lowered his voice. “You better not screw this up, Axel. You better do exactly as you’re told.”

  “Of course, I will. I just want my money when it’s done.”

  “You’ll get it. If you don’t screw up. Like I said, this will all be over soon.”

  Axel was getting really tired of being under Draco’s thumb. But now wasn’t the time to argue. He took the bottle from Draco and went inside the motel room.

  Imogen lay asleep on the bed near the bathroom, bundled up in blankets. As soon as they’d gotten here, he’d dressed her in the second-hand pajamas he’d bought for her at the thrift store and tucked her under the covers. A fragment of the pink fabric decorated with mermaids stuck out from the covers.

  He laid the back of his hand against her forehead. She was burning up.

  She opened her eyes. “Daddy?”

  “I’m here, honey.”

  “I don’t feel good.”

  “I know. I’ve got something to help.”

  She turned over to face him. “Why did we have to move?”

  He didn’t know what to say to that. “It’s complicated. I’ll explain it to you when you’re better.”

  He shook the bottle and looked around the room. They didn’t have a spoon. He’d have to make her drink it out of the cap.

  “Where’s Mommy?”

  She’d been asking for her mother more and more, making him feel guiltier than ever that he’d brought her into this mess. “You’ll see her soon,” he said as he poured the thick red liquid into the cap. “Here. Just take this now. It will make you feel better.”

  She sat up, let him put the cap to her lips, and swallowed. Then she wrinkled her face. “That’s yucky.”

  “I know. Just go to sleep now. You’ll feel better, and this will all be over soon,” he said, echoing Draco’s words.

  “Okay, Daddy.” She laid her head back down and closed her eyes.

  Axel stroked her pretty light brown hair.

  “Daddy?” she said sleepily, her eyes still closed.

  “Yes, honey?”

  “Maybe when I’m well, you and Mommy can take me to get a puppy.”

  Her words tore at his heart. “Yeah, maybe,” he lied.

  He put the cap on the bottle and took it into the bathroom. He set it on the counter and stared at his own face in the mirror. There were bags under his eyes. His dark hair was as messy as Draco’s. This job had aged him.

  It would all be over soon. The words were becoming his mantra.

  And when it was, and his daughter was back with her mother, he would take his money and get out of the business. He’d go somewhere far away. Overseas, maybe. Find a villa in the south of France or buy a houseboat in Tokyo. Change his identity. Change himself.

  Someplace, somewhere. He wanted a different life. He wanted to be another person. He would be. He’d never be the same after this.

  It would all be over soon, he told himself again. And as far as he was concerned, it couldn’t be soon enough.

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Miranda, Parker, Sloan and the team spent the rest of the afternoon going from house to house, canvassing the area around Douglas Vaughn’s now vacant residence.

  None of the neighbors had seemed to pay much attention to the man, though they could identify him from the photo. Some didn’t like him. Most just ignored him. One man complained about his unkempt yard. All of them had been at work or shopping or busy inside during the hours before the team arrived at the house.

  No one had noticed a car leaving with a little girl.

  As the sun started to set, they ran out of neighbors to question so they called it a night. Sloan and his men returned to one of their lairs. Miranda and her team went back to the hotel.

  When they reached the lobby, Wesson headed for the restaurant with Holloway and Becker, but Miranda just wanted to sleep.

  It was only a little past six, but she felt bone weary.

  “You need rest,” Parker said, gently kissing her hair when they were alone in their suite.

  “I want to go to sleep and never wake up.”

  He lifted her chin. “You’ve done the best you could. We’ll figure something out.”

  Maybe, but it would be too late.

  She took off the holster with the Beretta and laid it on the dresser. She hung the little black dress in the closet and pulled on a T-shirt. As she lay down on the neatly made bed, all she could think about was that scrap of homework paper on the floor of that deserted house.

  She put her head on the pillow and closed her eyes, willing the images of the empty rooms away. A moment later she felt Parker settle in beside her, felt his strong hand massaging her shoulders and neck.

  “Mmm,” she murmured, half asleep.

  As always, Parker’s touch felt good, but it did little to take away the sense of loss, of failure. Of despair for that poor little girl and her mother.

  She’d done the best she could. But it wasn’t enough.

  Parker felt the tension in his precious wife’s shoulders as he kneaded her tight muscles. He should have taken over this case from the beginning. He couldn’t have produced better results, but perhaps it wouldn’t have taken such an emotional toll on his wife. No, she would be going through this turmoil no matter who had been in charge.

  She cared too much. He cared too much. This case hit home. It was too personal for both of them.

  He felt her tension loosen a bit, heard her breathing become steady.

  She was asleep. He was glad.

  She’d been pushing herself hard ever since they’d arrived in this city. He settled in beside her, closed his eyes, and tried to relax as well.

  Rest would do
them both good. A nap, a short break. And then perhaps they could think of some way to save Imogen Wesson from a fate worse than death.

  Chapter Forty-Five

  She was running.

  Running as hard as she could, as if her life depended on it.

  It did.

  She was in a long dark alleyway in some city somewhere, the wind whipping around her face as if she were in the middle of a tornado.

  But it wasn’t a tornado. Whoever was chasing her was causing the windstorm. She turned a corner and found herself facing a brick wall. Too high to climb over. No ladder. No windows.

  Nowhere to go.

  The wind howled behind her.

  And then she saw it. A small opening near the bottom of the wall.

  Without thinking, she fell to her knees and crawled through it.

  Gasping for breath she looked around. It was darker here. She couldn’t stand up. She was in a tunnel. A long twisty tunnel that smelled dank and dirty. She had to find her way out of it before they got to her. She crawled and crawled until her knees bled. The tunnel seemed to go on forever. But finally it evaporated and she was able to stand.

  Where was she now?

  In another hall, she realized. This one was lined with red brick on all sides. There were several passages before her. It was a maze. Before she could figure out where to go, something behind her snarled.

  She picked a passage and ran.

  Gasping for breath, her bare feet slapping against the pavement, her gauze gown whirling around her legs, she turned to the right, to the left, to the right again. As she ran she tried to figure out where she was, where she was going, where she could hide. But there was nowhere.

  She was lost in this place.

  Something growled behind her.

  Run. Run faster.

  And then she spied another small opening in the wall ahead of her. This one had a green wooden door that came up to her waist. And a handle. It was larger than the other passage. Certainly big enough to crawl inside. Did she dare open the door?

  A roar shook the air behind her.

  No time to think.

  She bent down and opened the door. Nothing but darkness. She had to get inside. Pushing her legs into the hole, she climbed into the dark space feet first and closed herself in.