by Alexa Grace
Kaitlyn shot him a sly, secretive smile and said, "I have my ways."
"Besides accusing me of breaking and entering, why are you here?" he asked sarcastically, wanting to put all the pieces together.
"I want to hire you to find Abby." Kaitlyn raised her eyes to his expectantly.
"I'm not sure I want to work for someone who accuses me of criminal acts." His response was curt, delivered in a cool, distant tone. Gabe was determined to find Abby, but wasn't at all sure he wanted to work for anyone but himself to do it.
Kaitlyn angrily pushed out of her chair and hissed, "Then I'll find her myself. I found you, didn't I?"
"That would be a dangerous and stupid move on your part."
"That's for me to judge," she returned.
When she stood to leave, Gabe grasped her arm, his touch sending a shiver down her spine. "I'll find her, Kaitlyn."
"You will?" Kaitlyn sat back down. "We haven't discussed the money part. How much is your fee?"
"This one is on the house on one condition."
"What's that?"
"You leave the investigative footwork to me. You don't have the training I have. Asking questions of the wrong people can get you hurt." Gabe paused, and then continued, "There are some other ways you can help."
"Good. I'll do anything." For the first time, Kaitlyn felt a sense of relief, and just a little hope. It wasn't that she wanted to help, she had to. If she wasn't doing something to find her sister, she'd go crazy.
"Since we didn't find her purse, I hope you can answer a couple of questions."
"Sure, what are they?"
"Where does Abby bank?"
Kaitlyn thought for a second, and then said, "I think she uses Purdue Credit Union like I do."
Gabe made a note. "Does she have gas cards or credit cards?"
"Yes, Chevron for the gas card, and she has a VISA credit card."
"That's helpful, Kaitlyn. It gives me enough information to do some online research into when and where Abby last used her accounts. I'm also going to call one of my contacts to get a ping on her iPhone to see when it was last used," Gabe said. "In the meantime, there are some more things you can do to help, if you have time."
"Yes, of course."
"Follow me," Gabe said, as he led Kaitlyn to double pocket doors she hadn't noticed. He slid them open to reveal a living area with a black leather sofa and chair, and an oval ebony coffee table. Mounted on the wall opposite the furniture was a large, flat screen television. There was also a small kitchen. The flooring was oak throughout, save for an ivory shag rug under the coffee table.
"What a great space," she said as she scanned the room.
"All my computer equipment is here in my office to work on computer forensics cases. On nights when I work especially late, I just stay here instead of driving home," Gabe said. "I figured you can work in here, while I'm doing computer research in my office."
"Okay. What do you want me to do?"
"Make a list of Abby's friends, and call each one to find out the last time she was seen. We need the when and where."
"Sure. I can do that. But keep in mind, I don't know all of her friends." A pang of guilt shot through her. She should know her sister's friends. She would have if she'd done more to make amends with Abby. Maybe if she had. . .
"Call the ones you know. After you get those calls made, you can make a missing person flyer. I'll bring in a laptop for you. After you create it, we'll have copies made."
"Good idea. While I'm talking with Abby's friends, I'll ask them if they'll help distribute and post the missing flyers."
Gabe left the room to retrieve one of his laptops for her to use. When he returned, she was settled on the sofa, making a list on a yellow pad of paper she'd found on his coffee table. Once he set up the laptop for her, he returned to the computer in his office and immediately typed in her name for a Google search. The first piece of information he found about Kaitlyn Reece was an engagement announcement, with a photo of Kaitlyn and a man named Mitch Bargo standing together in a park. According to the article, Kaitlyn and Mitch were to be married in September of last year. This seemed curious to Gabe. There was no wedding ring on Kaitlyn's finger. Not that it was any of his business, but he wondered what had happened to prevent the wedding. Or maybe she was one of those women who didn't wear her wedding ring.
On the LinkedIn website, he discovered Kaitlyn was a Purdue University graduate in elementary education, with honors. On Facebook and Twitter, she was an infrequent user and had posted no messages since the year before.
He watched Kaitlyn in the next room pacing back and forth in front of his entertainment center as she talked on her cell phone to one of Abby's friends. Making the call was obviously hard for her. Her voice fragile and shaking, she wiped away a tear as she asked Abby's friend for help.
Gabe used the clearance he'd gotten from Brody last year to get information from Abby's gas cards, credit cards, and bank. He discovered that none of the accounts had been accessed since her disappearance. Not a good sign.
Gabe got out the surveillance DVD that the Hoosier Sports Bar and Grill owner had given him and slipped it in his computer. He fast-forwarded through hours of Friday's surveillance camera recording until he reached the segment showing people leaving the bar, just prior to closing. Finally he saw Abby as she headed toward her car, which was the only one parked in front. She got into her car and drove away without incident.
This bar was the last place that Abby was seen. His gut told him he was missing something. Gabe ran his fingers through his hair and started the recording from the beginning, fast-forwarded until he reached ten o'clock, then hit pause. From that point, he moved frame-to-frame and closely examined each person who left the bar. He saw nothing unusual until one in the morning, when two men walked from the bar to their white van, parked in the lot. The men sat in the van for a good thirty minutes until they drove away.
Maybe it was the white van that made Gabe suspicious. He knew from experience that windowless white vans were often involved in crimes, whether they were driven by child molesters, kidnappers, or murderers. And there were so many white vans out there, it was a nightmare for law enforcement to track them.
Searching for a mysterious white van had sent the investigators of the 2002 sniper attacks in the Washington, D.C, area in a tail spin, wasting valuable hours searching for the wrong vehicle, until John Allen Muhammad and Lee Boyd Malvo were arrested, driving a blue 1990 Chevrolet Caprice. Hell, Carly told him that even Ted Bundy used a white van when he abducted and murdered his last victim, Kimberly Leach.
Gabe backed up the recording and watched the two men leave the bar, walk across the parking lot, and enter the white van one more time. What in the hell were they doing sitting in the van for thirty additional minutes? If they were waiting for someone to leave the bar after them, why didn't they wait until closing?
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In the kitchen, Gabe pulled out some containers of food. "Kaitlyn, are you hungry?"
"Starved. No breakfast."
"How about a ham or turkey sandwich with some chips?"
"Sounds great. Where is your bathroom? I'd like to wash my hands."
"It's the second room down the hallway." Gabe pulled out sandwich ingredients from the refrigerator. Hearing his office phone ring from the other room, Gabe raced toward it, hit his knee on the coffee table, and sent Kaitlyn's purse airborne. Its contents glided across the floor.
"Oh, shit!" He rubbed his knee, cursing the coffee table, along with his office phone, which had stopped ringing. If there was one thing that made him uncomfortable, it was a woman's purse. This uneasiness probably stemmed from the time he was caught searching his mom's purse for a piece of gum. He'd gotten a tongue-lashing from that event, along with ten minutes in the timeout corner. His mom had emphasized that there might be highly personal items in a woman's purse that would embarrass the heck out of him, along with the owner of the purse. That was enough to make him steer clear — until now.
Rushing to the purse, he located a wallet and lipstick which he slipped back into the purse.
"Is doing an inventory of my purse part of your investigative plan to find my sister?"
He looked up to see Kaitlyn, who wore an unmistakably annoyed expression on her face, standing with her arms crossed. Her foot tapped on the floor, much like his mother's had years ago.
Gabe held up his hands in defense. "Hey, this isn't how it looks. I tripped over the coffee table on the way to my office to answer the phone."
Resting down on the sofa, her arms still crossed, with just the hint of a grin tugging at the corners of her mouth. "Is that the story you're going with?"
Gabe plucked an odd-looking pink metal silhouette of a dog from the floor. "What's this?"
"That's my Attack Dog," she replied, as he handed it to her. "You put two fingers through the Attack Dog eye holes and the sharp tips of his ears can be used to defend yourself against an attacker, like this." Kaitlyn demonstrated jabbing an invisible attacker with the device.
He picked up another pink object. "Is this what I think it is?"
"Ah, the Blaster stun gun, a girl's best friend. Actually, it's one of my favorites. Notice it's dual-purpose, with the built-in rechargeable flashlight," Kaitlyn began. "The Blaster may look pink and girlish, but that baby delivers a powerful punch of 19 million volts. Just firing it into the air should be enough to stop any attacker with half a brain. It makes a scary electrical popping sound as the blinding electric current pulsates between the test prongs. One touch and the Blaster is guaranteed to bring a would-be assailant to his knees. Very cool."
Gabe shook his head and grinned. "I don't know whether to think you're a modern-day female avenger or a sales rep for self-defense weapons."
"Neither. I just happened to be a woman who is trained to defend herself."
Handing the purse to her, Gabe sat on the coffee table and watched Kaitlyn rummage through it. She was undoubtedly one of the most beautiful women he'd ever laid eyes on, and one of the most armed.
Finding what she was looking for, Kaitlyn held up a pink lipstick case. What was it with this girl and the color pink? "Are you thinking I'm about to touch up my lipstick?"
"Not sure."
Opening the case, she whipped out a small pink canister of pepper spray.
"You're a regular 007," Gabe said as he admired the resourceful woman.
"Frankie says it can make an attacker cry like a baby so you can kick him where it hurts and run like hell."
"Did you say Frankie?"
"Yes."
"Frankie Douglas?"
"She goes by her married name now. Frankie Douglas-Hansen."
"Small world. I know Frankie. She's one of my best friends. How do you know her?"
"Frankie teaches my self-defense class, plus she's my role model and hero."
He realized there was only one thing missing from her arsenal. "Where's your handgun, Kaitlyn?"
"Oh, it's in the glove box in my car. Want to see it? Before you ask, I do have a concealed weapon permit.”
"Don't tell me. Let me guess. Frankie trained you to shoot it."
"Yes." She headed for the kitchen. Opening the mayonnaise jar, she laid out four slices of bread, then coated each with the creamy sauce."
Gabe joined her and pulled out two glasses and liter of Coke. Gazing at Kaitlyn, he wondered why she felt she had to have a self-defense collection. "May I ask you a personal question?"
She eyed him skeptically. "I think so."
"What are you so afraid of?"
"Nothing now."
"What were you afraid of before Frankie's training, and purchase of your self-defense collection?"
Kaitlyn squeezed her eyes closed for a second, as if a painful memory had crossed her mind. "I took a night class my last semester at Purdue. It was a long walk back to my apartment, so I always cut through an alley that ran between a campus bar and a pizza place. One night after class, I was walking through the alley and this guy jumped out at me from behind a dumpster and grabbed me. He clamped his hand over my mouth so I couldn't scream, and kicked my legs from under me so I fell flat on my back. I was so terrified that I froze. He yanked my panties down. He was unzipping his jeans, when my brain restarted, and I kicked him between the legs. As he howled with pain, I kicked him until I was sure he couldn't chase me when I ran."
"I'm glad you escaped unharmed."
"After that, I realized I didn't like feeling helpless, with no control over what happened to me. That's when I enrolled in Frankie's class. She helped me to believe in myself, and to always consider my options when threatened."
A mixture of interest and respect flowed through Gabe as he gazed at her. Some women would have been traumatized for life if they'd had an experience like Kaitlyn had. Her resilience and determination attracted him as no woman ever had.
<><><>
As she prepared to leave Gabe's office, Kaitlyn glanced back at him. He was so engrossed with whatever he'd discovered on his computer that she had to clear her throat to get his attention. Finally, he looked up and shot her a seductive smile, and her hormones did an unwanted happy dance.
"I'm going to the Campus Printing in West Lafayette to get copies of Abby's missing flyers. I'll be back tomorrow morning."
Going down the stairs, Kaitlyn felt a little ball of need that burst to life in the pit of her stomach that could only mean one thing — she was physically attracted to Gabriel Chase, Private Investigator. Seriously? She gave herself a little shake. No way. She could not be attracted to this man. Sure, the man was hotter than hot, and had a body designed purely to give a woman hours and hours of female pleasure. But if he dated her sister, like Dr. Ramsey told her, he must be operating on less than half his brain power, and have no sexual scruples. Why? Because that was Abby's kind of man — eye candy on her arm on campus, no pressure from him for a real relationship, and like her, only in it for the sex.
Gabriel Chase was an amazing specimen of masculinity, who could undoubtedly get any woman he wanted. She wanted a man who only had eyes for her. And if he were the least bit attracted to her, it was probably for a one-night-stand. And if there was one thing Kaitlyn didn't want, it was a fling. She wanted to settle down with a man who was both a lover and a best friend — someone who was in it for the long haul. She wanted happily ever after.
Compared to her sister, Kaitlyn was a Girl Scout with a badge in chastity. Okay, she wasn't completely chaste, thanks to Mitch Bargo, her no-good ex-fiancé, who'd turned her world upside down. And not in a good way. Just the thought of Mitch sent her stomach swirling and her teeth gritting.
Kaitlyn got into her car, plopping down in the driver's seat, slamming the door, and then locking it. As she turned the ignition on, a thought sizzled through her brain. Knowing Abby as well as she did, she was convinced that Abby dumped Gabe. As if she enjoyed it, her sister always had to be the one who broke up the non-relationship. Abby didn't have relationships. She hated the thought of being with any man more than a couple of weeks. So if Dr. Ramsey was correct and Abby dated Gabe for a month, it was highly unusual. For Abby, boredom always set in, and it was time to say good-bye. Abby had a way of breaking up with a man that didn't include sensitivity or empathy. The harder they took the break-up, the more she enjoyed it.
Her mind raced with all the possibilities, and one of them went on repeat. She couldn't get rid of the thought, fear, or whatever it was. What if Abby used her typical lack of finesse to break up with Gabe and she angered him so much that he made her disappear? If a private investigator specialized in finding people, he could be a master in knowing how to make people vanish. Right?
Chapter Four
Sitting cross-legged on her bed, Kaitlyn turned on her bedside lamp and pulled out Abby's journal. The first ten pages were about Abby's classes and about a professor named Ted Foster who gave Abby the creeps.
Professor Foster asked me to dinner again today. He waited until all the other students left the cl
assroom before he handed me my test. He'd given me an "A." But did I really earn it? He appraised my breasts as he moved closer, until he was almost touching me. "I've given you another "A," Abby. Won't you reward me by having dinner with me tonight?"
I told him I had plans and raced out of there like my butt was on fire. Last Tuesday evening, just before dark, I saw him walk past my apartment. He stood under a street light for a while, and then walked down the alley that leads to the parking lot in back. God, he freaks me out. Every time he gets near me, a pervert alert goes off inside my brain. I'd like nothing better than to plant a hard kick to his groin. Perhaps I will someday. Something to look forward to.
When was the last time this creep saw Abby? Did he hurt her because she rejected his advances one time too many?
