Shades of Gray

by Rachel Ann Nunes

  “Who took Sawyer?” I asked, my eyes searching the yard for any clue to what she was talking about.

  “I don’t know. A man. I looked outside and saw him come over the fence. I ran outside because Sawyer was there, and he shoved me away and hit me when I wouldn’t back off. Then he grabbed Sawyer from the sandbox and tossed him over the fence to somebody. I heard a car squeal away.”

  “We have to call the police!” Tawnia started toward the house.

  “No need.” I motioned to the gate where two uniformed police officers were entering, presumably the pair assigned to watch Sophie’s house.

  “Is something wrong?” one asked. He had brown hair and a sturdy build that looked as if he could run all day and never tire. His eyes were kind.

  I repeated what Sophie had said, and all at once they were in motion. The blond partner leapt over the fence to check out the other side, and the first officer started back to the front, dialing on his cell phone.

  “Where’s Lizbeth?” I asked.

  Sophie looked at me blankly, and I had to repeat the question before she said, “In the kitchen. In her swing. What if they took her, too!” We ran to the kitchen, but Lizbeth was sound asleep in her swing. Sophie collapsed to the floor by her daughter and began sobbing. “Oh, my boy, my baby! He’s going to be so scared. Why do they want him? What are they going to do to him?”

  Tawnia and I had no answer, but my sister sat awkwardly next to Sophie and held her.

  “I’m going out to the fence,” I said. Tawnia nodded. It was a long shot that the kidnapper had left imprints there, but he might have. Or maybe the man had dropped something that contained an imprint.

  No such luck. I met the police officer coming back over the fence, his face grim. “Anything there?” I asked. He shook his head.

  I waited until he started back to the gate before running my hands over the fence. I was thorough, covering far more of it than the man could have touched. The only objects nearby that had an imprint were the toys that Sawyer had played with in the sandbox—more pleasant tingles than anything else. I went to the set of plastic chairs and tables on the patio and carried the table over to the fence to check out the area on the other side for myself. A house was being constructed there, and all that met my gaze was piles of lumber, small hills of dirt, and rubbish that had been left behind by the workers.

  Sawyer was simply gone.

  Back in the house, everything was in chaos. Several more police cars had arrived, and officers were with Sophie in her sitting room. Tawnia sat next to her, holding her hand. Outside, a growing crowd of neighbors were talking to police officers. Women held tightly to their babies or to the hands of their toddlers. I didn’t need the police to tell me that no one had seen anything.

  Except for Sophie.

  “It wasn’t your husband, was it?” I heard a police officer asking her.

  “No! No, of course not. Dennis wouldn’t do this. Why aren’t you out there finding my son?” Sophie could barely get out the words. Her face was a mess. Mascara ran down her cheeks. Half her hair had broken free of its comb and curled unevenly around her face.

  There was nothing I could do to help.

  I went to the kitchen where baby Lizbeth still slept soundly.

  What did I know?

  Nothing really, except if Russo was after Dennis, he could also be after his family. But why give Sophie a car, and probably the money as well, and then take Sawyer? It didn’t make sense. There had to be another player.

  The baby’s eyes came open, and her face crumpled as she readied for a huge scream. Hurriedly, I unhooked her safety belt and slid her out of the seat. I was awkward, but Lizbeth wasn’t picky.

  “It’s okay,” I said, kissing her softly. She had a warm and pleasant smell that reminded me of sunshine and made me want to curl up with her and keep her safe. “We’ll find your brother and your daddy.” But what if we didn’t? Lizbeth would never remember either of them or be able to understand the loss her mother would always feel. “I’ll do everything I can to get them back to you.”

  That probably meant going to see Russo again and somehow getting my hands on his personal belongings. Not an easy task. What if he’d been the one who sent my attacker? I hugged Lizbeth tighter, knowing it didn’t matter. I’d still have to try. Russo knew far more than he was telling.

  “Ah, I wondered if you’d be here.”

  I lifted my face from the baby to see Shannon, feeling suddenly awkward. “What took you so long?” I countered.

  He sighed. “We’ve got everyone working on it. An Amber Alert is going out in a few minutes. We’re sending people to all the main roads, but it’s like looking for a needle in a haystack.”

  “Use a microscope then. We have to find them.” Until I spoke, I hadn’t realized how close to tears I was.

  “We will.”

  “Alive,” I added.

  He didn’t reply.

  I handed him the baby. “I have somewhere to go.”

  Shannon’s arms went instinctively around the baby. “Wait, why are you giving her to me? Where are you going?”

  Ignoring him, I walked out of the kitchen, past the police officers in the foyer, and through the front door.

  I wasn’t exactly planning to walk into Russo’s den, though. First I’d try to call him, and that meant another favor from Tracy. She might be at her mother’s, but I bet she was keeping tabs on the situation.

  Hurrying down the sidewalk, I nearly ran into someone—Ace, the man I’d met in Russo’s office. He was still wearing jeans and T-shirt. “What are you doing here?” Even as I said it, I remembered where else I’d seen him. “Wait, I know you. You’re a private investigator. I’ve seen you at the station asking questions.” I hadn’t seen him recently, but during the first case I worked with Shannon, he’d probably been the only person more annoying to the detective than I was. “Why are you here?”

  “I could ask you the same thing.”

  “Sophie and Dennis are my friends.”

  “I was hired by Russo to find Dennis.”

  “So you’re the reason Russo’s in Portland.”

  He shook his head, that secret smile still on his face. “Nope. He hired me only yesterday.”

  “You’re Shannon’s plant, aren’t you?” So that’s how he was keeping tabs on Russo. Chalk one up to Shannon—he knew how to use even annoying private eyes.

  “Me?” Ace said far too innocently.

  “Have you made any progress at all?” I seriously doubted his ability. Then again, he was here not more than thirty minutes since Sawyer had been taken. Did that mean Russo was responsible for the boy’s disappearance?

  “If I had made progress, what makes you think I’d share it with you?”

  I could see he wasn’t going to tell me anything useful, so I shoved past him. I’d almost made it to my car when a black Lexus pulled up next to me, the back window rolling down. The car looked suspiciously familiar.

  Russo.

  Sure enough, he was in the backseat, leaning over so I could see him. “Can we talk?”

  I glanced over my shoulder, but Ace had gone inside Sophie’s house, and Shannon was nowhere to be seen. None of the police officers or the neighbors were paying attention to me.

  Making a quick decision that was based more upon Sophie’s tearful face than on logic, I opened the door and slid into the empty seat. Charlie was driving, but he didn’t so much as glance my way.

  “Okay, talk,” I said, as Charlie hit the gas.

  “I need to take you somewhere.”

  This didn’t sound good. I thought of asking him about the guy with the knife but decided I really didn’t want to know. Besides, he apparently wanted something from me. If he was guilty, he wasn’t going to admit it to me now. “Where?”

 
“To the motel where Dennis was last night. I want to know if you can tell me anything.”

  “What could I possibly tell you? Besides, I seem to remember you saying something about me and garbage at our last meeting.”

  He had the good grace to look ashamed. “I had another chat with the private investigator I hired, and he says you’re for real. Or at least that the detectives at the police station give you some credit.”

  “Okay, I’ll help. But first you have to answer a few questions.” No way was I going to be used to find Dennis only so we could both end up as food for the fishes. I leaned back and folded my arms.

  Russo regarded me silently for long seconds—seconds that were taking me farther away from Sophie’s and the protection of the police. “Deal,” he said. “Shoot.”

  “Why are you trying to find Dennis? What is he to you?”

  He frowned. “It’s a long story.”

  “How far is it to the motel?”

  “Have it your way. I’ll tell you. Dennis isn’t the man you know. His name isn’t Dennis.”

  “That much I’ve already figured out. I also know he witnessed a murder five years ago. I think he ran away and began a new life.”

  Russo laughed. “That’s not far from the truth. About running away, at least. Dennis is actually Damiano—Damian, in English. Damian Franco. I’ve been looking for him for five years. He’s my cousin.”

  Chapter 10

  Dennis’s real name was Damian? That was hard to believe. I mean, the name Damian should belong to a tall, good-looking, dark-haired Italian with a prominent nose and an accent, not a regular, ordinary IT guy with brown hair who gardened with his wife and picked out colors to paint his baby daughter’s room.

  “Dennis is your cousin,” I repeated. At least that explained Dennis’s mixed emotions at seeing Russo. “If that’s true, why was he so afraid of you?”

  “Did he tell you he was afraid?”

  “I felt it on something he owns.” I met his gaze steadily. “He wasn’t just afraid but terrified, and that caused him to pack a suitcase and leave his family—probably with the hope that you wouldn’t find them. Did you take Sawyer?” That made sense. If this “family” of Dennis’s had been searching for him, they’d likely want to find his children, too.

  Russo blinked. “What are you talking about?”

  “Didn’t your private eye tell you? Sawyer is missing. Someone took him from his own backyard less than an hour ago.”

  Russo’s face paled to a shade of gray I would have found amusing if it hadn’t set back my theory of his being responsible. He pulled out his cell phone and dialed, barking orders in a language I didn’t recognize. I wondered if he spoke that language without an accent as he did English. I didn’t understand a word. Maybe if I touched the phone, I would receive an imprint that could tell me what he said—emotions had no language—but Russo was unlikely to allow that liberty.

  When he finished, he studied me gravely. “I didn’t order the boy taken, but I should have. This means they know Damian—Dennis—is in Portland and have found out about his family.”

  “They who?”

  “On the night Damian disappeared, he and his older brother met with Joben Saito, one of our business rivals. We’d clashed before, and that night was supposed to be the end of our problems. But things didn’t go well at the meeting, and Damian’s brother was killed.”

  I didn’t ask what kind of business negotiations ended so poorly. Nothing legal, I’d bet, if the result was murder.

  “Damian called me after Bartolomeo was killed,” Russo continued. “He was scared. Said someone was after him. Saito, presumably. When we got there, Damian and Saito were gone, but the police had a man in custody, and we thought he had to be Damian. When the man went missing, we all believed Saito’s men had killed him.”

  “Why didn’t you go to the police?”

  Russo laughed. “This isn’t the sort of thing you go to the police about. But we’ve kept an eye on the Saitos ever since because Damian’s body never turned up. For all we knew, they still had him. When the Saitos came to Portland, we figured it was to damage our interests in the city, but when I saw Damian at the attorney’s, I began to wonder if they were here for him. After all, he had witnessed the murder and could put Saito in jail.”

  “It’s been five years, and Dennis has cut all ties to his family. Obviously, he had no intention of going to the police. Why would the Saitos still be after him?”

  Russo’s face twisted into something that chilled me. “The particulars are none of your business. But make no mistake—they would love to lay his body on his father’s doorstep. Damian is the only living son, and his brother left no male heirs, so Damian is to inherit his father’s business.”

  “He doesn’t seem very interested.” That Dennis had stayed away from his family after the incident told me far more than Russo likely wanted me to know. He must have wanted to escape, perhaps had been waiting for the right opportunity to disappear.

  Russo waved away my concern. “He’ll change his mind once he is back with the family. Besides, he has a son himself, now. The boy must be brought up in the business.”

  “Maybe he doesn’t like your kind of business,” I muttered under my breath. I knew Dennis, and he wasn’t the kind of man Russo was. “What about you?” I said more loudly. “You could run the family.”

  “I do work hard for the family, but I’m not my uncle’s son. Since my mother is his sister, I don’t share the same last name. Besides, even if I were his son, I have three daughters. No boys. My second wife is expecting, but the doctor says it’s also a girl. My uncle remarried after his first wife’s death and has a daughter from that marriage. It may be that my young cousin will someday have a son who could be my uncle’s heir, but for now we need Damian and his son.”

  Did I detect bitterness in the words, or were they a simple statement of facts? Whatever he felt, Russo wasn’t showing me, and I was sure he’d take exception if I reached over to touch the heavy ring next to his half-missing finger.

  “What if Dennis doesn’t want to go back?” I asked.

  “He has no choice.”

  “He might run again.”

  Russo shook his head. “He wouldn’t leave his family behind with us.”

  “No wonder he chose to run away,” I spat. “Stories like this make me glad I have no clue who my birth relatives are.”

  “Don’t judge what you don’t know.”

  I lifted my chin and locked my eyes on his. “I do know, and I don’t believe the welfare of a group is more important than the life of an individual. Dennis made his choice, and his family—you—should honor that. If you don’t, any love between you is nothing but words.”

  Russo’s glare would have sent a shiver down my spine if I hadn’t been so furious. If he thought I was going to help him find Dennis, he was mistaken. I stared out the window again, biting the inside of my lip in an attempt to control my temper.

  After a time, Russo surprised me by saying in a relatively calm voice, “Damian and I played together as children. He was a good kid even then. His brother and I teased him for it and played pranks on him, but he never complained and he never cried. He didn’t cringe when his father disciplined us or rebel against him. He simply endured. He was eighteen when his mother died, and it was he who comforted his brother and his father. I’ve always admired Damian, and I’ve missed him.”

  What could I say to that? As with Dennis, bits of gray swirled around his feelings and motives. But what shade? Dark gray or light? I wasn’t sure it mattered.

  We drove in silence a few more blocks and then I asked, “If you really didn’t take Sawyer, do you think Saito did?”

  “It’s possible. Likely. I have my people looking into it now.” His eyes went past me. “Looks like we’ve arrived.”

&nbs
p; I swiveled to see a small motel that was maybe ten minutes from Jake’s grandmother’s apartment building. Unlike the area she lived in, the entire block was run down, and the motel in particular badly needed refurbishing. I wondered if Dennis had chosen it on purpose, or if it was where he’d simply ended up.

  “Your investigator tracked him here?”

  “Actually, the police found the place first. My man has contacts within the department.”

  I wondered if Russo had any idea that his investigator played both sides, or maybe Shannon was the one in the dark. When I saw him again, I’d be sure to ask.

  I sized up my two companions as we headed for a room on the second floor, accessed directly from the parking lot. No way I could take both of them together, or even alone, unless they were completely untrained, but I might be able to get away from them if I needed to. I’d have to watch for the opportunity. Right now they sandwiched me in between them like a delicacy they were reluctant to let out of their sight.

  We didn’t get as far as the door before a uniformed police officer stepped in our way. “Excuse me. This area is off limits.”

  I guess he recognized that men wearing clothing as expensive as Russo and Charlie wouldn’t be guests at this dive.

  “Hey, Peirce, it’s me,” I said, recognizing the short, red-haired man from my visits to the police station. He’d stood out from the others because of his flaming hair and because he told jokes that had diverted his colleagues’ attention from the odd girl in the worn jeans who could read imprints. I’d never forgotten him for that, though I still didn’t know the name of his big, dark-skinned, shaved-head companion who emerged from the room at our voices, his hand on his gun.

  “I did recognize you, Ms. Rain,” Peirce said. “Been a few months.”

  “I told you to call me Autumn.” Peirce Elvey was probably five years younger than me but calling me Ms. made me feel old.

  “Right.” He gave me a grin that wrinkled the many freckles on his nose. “So, did Detective Martin send you here?”