by Debra Webb
He shook his head in response to her question.
“No credit card or cell phone trails?” she went on. “No goodbye or suicide notes? No ransom demands?”
“Nothing.”
With a fluidity and ease that spoke of confidence as well as physical strength and fitness, he propped one hip on the edge of the table and studied her, those familiar blue eyes searching hers as blatantly as she had assessed his seconds ago. “Sheriff Roy Griggs—you may remember him—and Chief Bruce Patterson in Tuscaloosa are doing all they can, but there’s nowhere to go. The Bureau won’t budge on the issue of age of consent. All four of these girls are nineteen or over, and with the lack of evidence to indicate foul play there’s nothing to investigate, in their opinion. File the report, add the photos to the various databases and wait. That’s what they can do.”
According to the law, the Bureau was correct. Unless there was evidence of foul play or vulnerability to a crime, there was no action the Bureau or any law enforcement agency could take. He knew this but his cop instincts or his emotions, she hadn’t concluded which yet, wouldn’t let it go at that. And she did remember Griggs. He had served as Jefferson County sheriff for the past three decades.
“But you think there’s a connection that suggests this is not only criminal but perhaps serial.” This wasn’t a question. He’d told her as much on the phone, but she needed to hear his conclusion again and to see what his face and eyes had to show about his words.
His call, just hearing his voice, had resurrected memories and feelings she’d thought long dead and buried. They hadn’t spoken since the summer after college graduation until ten years ago when they bumped into each other at the Publix in Hoover. Of all the grocery stores in the Birmingham area how they’d ended up at the same one on the first holiday she’d spent with her family in years still befuddled her. He had been newly divorced from his second wife. Jess had been celebrating a promotion. A volatile combination when merged with the holiday mania and the nostalgia of their explosive history. The last minute dessert she had hoped to grab at the market before dinner with her sister’s family had never made it to the table.
Jess hadn’t heard from him since. Not that she could fault his after-frantic-sex lack of propriety; she’d made no attempt at contact either. There had been no random shopping ventures since on her rare visits to Birmingham.
“There has to be a connection.” He surveyed the happy, carefree faces in the photos again. “Same age group. All attractive. Smart. No records, criminal or otherwise. Their entire futures—bright futures—ahead of them. And no one in their circle of family or friends saw a disappearing act coming.” He tapped the fourth girl’s photo. “I know Andrea Denton personally. There’s no way she would just vanish like this. No way.”
Two things registered distinctly as he made this passionate declaration. One, he wasn’t wearing a wedding band. Two, he didn’t just know number four personally. He knew her intimately on some level.
“Someone took her,” he insisted. “Someone took them all.” His expression softened a fraction. “I know your profiling reputation. If anyone can help us find these girls, it’s you.”
A genuine smile tugged at the frown Jess had been wearing most waking hours for days now. She had absolutely nothing to smile about but somehow the compliment coming from him roused the reaction. “That might be a bit of a stretch, chief.” Sitting here with him staring down at her so intently felt entirely too familiar…too personal. She stood, leveling the playing field. “And even the best can’t create something out of nothing and, unfortunately, that’s exactly what you appear to have so far.”
“All I’m asking is that you try. These girls,” he gestured to the files, “deserve whatever we can do.”
He’d get no argument from her there. “You know the statistics.” If they had in fact been abducted, the chances of finding one or more alive at this stage were minimal at best. The only good thing she could see was that they didn’t have a body. Yet.
“I do.” He dipped his head in a weary, somber move, emphasizing the grave tone of his voice.
Eventually she would learn the part he was leaving out. No one wanted to admit there was nothing to be done when anyone went missing, particularly a child or young adult. But this urgency and unwavering insistence that foul play was involved went beyond basic human compassion and the desire to get the job done. She could feel his anxiety and worry vibrating with escalating intensity.
“Will your counterparts cooperate?” Kicking a hornet’s nest when it came to jurisdiction would compound her already complicated situation. That she could do without. Once the news hit the public domain, there would be trouble enough.
“They’ll cooperate. You have my word.”
Jess had known Daniel Burnett her whole life. He believed there was more here than met the eye in these seemingly random disappearances. Unless emotion was somehow slanting his assessment, his instincts rarely missed the mark. More than twenty years ago he had known she was going to part ways with him well before she had recognized that unexpected path herself, and he had known she was his for the taking that cold, blustery evening in that damned Publix. She would lay odds on his instincts every time.
She just hadn’t ever been able to count on him when it came to choosing her over his own personal and career goals. As ancient as that history was, the hole it left in her heart had never completely healed. Even knowing that hard truth, she held her breath, waiting for what came next.
“I need your help, Jess.”
Jess. The smooth, deep nuances of his voice whispered over her skin and just like that it was ten years ago all over again.
Only this time, she would make certain they didn’t end up in bed together.
Chapter Two
Andrea Denton squeezed her eyes shut and tried to fight the effects of the drug. She didn’t know what the white pill she’d been forced to swallow was but she knew it was bad. The other girls were like zombies. Andrea would be too if she didn’t fight harder. She couldn’t let that happen.
Stumbling and staggering like a drunk person, she paced back and forth in the darkness. The other two girls huddled in the corner, too afraid to move.
Andrea’s stomach churned with the urge to puke again but she held it back. She’d eaten handful after handful of dirt, clawing it from the packed floor and shoving it into her mouth. She’d lost count of the number. Maybe it was stupid and she’d probably swallowed rat poop and no telling what else, but whenever any of her friends got this messed up they ate everything in sight and danced or walked or jumped around to try and wear off the effects of the alcohol or the drugs they’d partied with.
Doing something was better than doing nothing.
She kept walking. Once or twice she bumped into the metal bunk beds. The beds were shoved against the back wall. The springs stretched and creaked whenever they were forced to lie down. That and the oatmeal were her only ways to measure time. Bed at night made sense. Oatmeal in the morning. Her brain hurt when she tried to remember how long she’d been here. Three plastic bowls of soggy, unsweetened oatmeal.
Looking for a way to escape, she had felt her way around the whole room. She’d almost had a heart attack when a rat ran over her hands. She shuddered. But she’d kept searching. There was a door but it was steel and there was no knob or lock on this side. A case of bottled water, she’d chugged as much as she could stand, sat in one corner, and a stinky pot with a lid for a toilet was in the other.
After her first day she’d had to use it. A stench had hit her in the face when she lifted the lid and made her puke. She tried not to use it until she couldn’t hold it anymore. The walls were mostly dirt and brick. Except where the door was, it felt different. Wood or something. Smelled like a basement to her. Like the one in her great-uncle’s house. He’d always told Andrea it was haunted to make sure she didn’t sneak down there. Eventually she had and she’d discovered his nasty magazines and stash of weed. Creepy old bastard.
/> When those bad people brought her here, the bag over her head had prevented her from seeing anything. Maybe this was a cave but she didn’t think so. A cave would have stone floors. Probably. This place smelled like a basement.
As strong as the musty, damp odor in the air was it didn’t cover up the smell of human waste where some of the others had peed their pants or worse. Andrea figured the effects of the drug and the fear caused them not to be able to make it to the pot. That happened sometimes to people when they died too. She shuddered. Didn’t want to think about dying.
Where was she? Why had these crazy people taken her and the others? For money? The trembling started again, first in her legs, then in her arms.
Maybe they were planning something really bad. Like in the movies when they tortured their victims or cut them into pieces.
She had to get out of here.
Walk. Just walk. You’ll figure something out. Her mother would be upset. Maybe her dad, too. And Dan. Tears burned her eyes as Andrea hugged herself. He had warned her about stuff like this. And she’d listened. She was smart. Always watchful. She never drank too much like some of her friends.
But she hadn’t expected the evil Dan had warned her about to come in the form of a nice lady who clipped coupons. Andrea had seen her plenty of times at the super Wal-Mart nearest her house. She carried one of those ridiculously massive binders with coupons stuffed into the pockets of the plastic pages inside. She had told Andrea about taking the coupons from the newspapers others tossed away. Stupidly, Andrea had suggested she check the recycle bins in neighborhoods like her own.
After that, every week on recycle day Andrea had been giving the woman whatever coupons had been jammed into the Wednesday and Sunday papers. They even laughed about that crazy coupon reality show. A bitter taste welled in her throat. She shouldn’t have trusted a stranger, even one who looked like she could be anyone’s mother.
A thump overhead made her freeze. Her heart thudded hard. Were they coming back?
Andrea couldn’t breathe…couldn’t think. The silence screamed in her ears as she listened harder than she had ever listened in her life. Her heart pounded faster and faster, made her chest ache.
Please don’t let them come back!
Last time they had taken a girl. Andrea tried to remember her name. Mason or Macy. She’d been gone for what felt like hours.
Even though Andrea couldn’t see shit, she lifted her gaze to the ceiling. She hadn’t heard any shouting or crying from up there. Maybe they wouldn’t hurt the other girl. Maybe this was a mistake...a joke. Some crazy sorority prank. If some of those crazy bitches had set this up Andrea would beat their effing asses.
Another thwack overhead made her jump. The girls huddled in the corner started to moan and sob. Their misery grew louder and louder with every shuddering breath that filled their lungs.
“Be quiet!” Andrea whispered. “They’ll hear you!”
But the girls didn’t stop. She put her hands over her ears to block the sounds. She didn’t want to hear them. She didn’t want to be here. This wasn’t supposed to happen to a girl as smart and careful as her.
A door slammed.
The moans and sobs hushed as if a switch had been flipped.
Heavy footfalls echoed in the darkness.
They were coming!
Adrenalin fired through Andrea’s veins, clearing the fog from her brain but doing nothing for her frozen limbs.
Run! There was nowhere to run.
Hide! There was nowhere to hide.
Fight! She was too weak to fight.
Warm pee trickled down her thighs.
Chapter Three
Jefferson County Sheriff’s Department, 5:00 p.m.
Dan watched as Jess placed the photos on the case board, then sketched a timeline. Beneath each photo she wrote the relevant information. Name. Address. The names of family and close friends. Then the date, time and location of disappearance.
Exhaustion tugged at his ability to concentrate. The past three days he’d worked night and day and he had nothing to show for it.
He stared at the photos and another wave of regret and urgency washed over him. How could his and two other departments have slogged through every aspect of these girls’ lives and have nothing?
Jess faced the group assembled at the conference table and adjusted her glasses.
When had she started wearing glasses? He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment and fought the wave of melancholy. The idea that she was really here still amazed him. Startled him on some level. He’d fully expected her to flat out refuse his request. But she hadn’t done that. She’d dropped everything and come to his rescue.
After that night ten years ago—the memory was permanently seared into his brain—he wouldn’t have blamed her for turning him down.
For nearly two decades he’d kept up with her career. Jessie Harris had climbed the ranks at the Bureau like a fire scaling a mountainside in the driest part of August. According to his liaison at the local Bureau office, she was one of the sharpest profilers on staff at Quantico. She possessed an innate ability to nail an unknown subject’s motive with uncanny accuracy.
He’d stopped asking about her a couple years ago. Hell it was way past time he’d gotten on with his life. Two doomed marriages were two too many. He’d met Annette and decided it was time to move on and start a real family.
Only that hadn’t happened. Annette had gone back to her ex and that was that. He caught himself before he shook his head. This case was far too important for distraction. Escape, he realized. His mind needed the escape. As tempting as it was, that was a luxury he couldn’t afford.
“Gentlemen,” Jess said, drawing his attention back to her. She paused. “And Detective Wells,” she added with a quick nod to the one female member on this task force besides herself. “I’ve provided my preliminary profile for your review. It’s on the table.” She gestured to the neat stack of stapled documents in the center of the conference table.
Each coversheet carried the BPD logo, not the Bureau’s. Made sense. Jess was here in an unofficial capacity. Dan wondered how her husband felt about her rushing to the aid of her former lover. The wedding band she wore was simple, not a piece of jewelry that would draw the eye. Yet, he had spotted that delicate gold band the instant he saw her standing in his waiting room.
Focus, Dan.
The stack was passed around, the final copy of her profile landing in his hands. He flipped over the cover sheet and stopped. Turned another page and then another. Each was the same. “The pages are blank.” What the devil was she doing?
Patterson, Griggs, and the two detectives, like Dan, stared from the unmarked white pages to the woman standing before them.
She waited, hands on hips, until the muttered remarks had ceased. Then she gestured to the packets they held and announced, “This is the profile I developed based on the findings you’ve provided.”
Dan opened his mouth to demand an explanation but she silenced him with an uplifted palm.
“If you,” she sent an accusing look at him, “called me down here to do your job for you, then you’ve vastly overestimated your charm and my patience.”
“What in blazes is the meaning of this?” Griggs demanded.
Roy Griggs had done police work too long to be yanked around by anyone, Quantico’s hotshot profiler included. Dan couldn’t believe Jess would pull a stunt like this without some point she felt genuinely compelled to make. There had to be a point. And it better be good.
Jess acknowledged the senior cop, in terms of service, with a nod. “If you’ll give me about two minutes, I’ll gladly tell you.”
Dan relaxed. His lips twitched with the urge to smile. There wasn’t a damned thing humorous about this case. It was her. He’d almost forgotten how she loved to get under the skin of authority—any authority. More than two decades in the northeast hadn’t changed her much. Her manner of dress was more sophisticated but beneath that stylish veneer she was still t
he same old Jess, he would wager. When the lady had a point to make, she intended for the room to listen. Didn’t matter who was in the room.
“There are two potential explanations for the disappearance of these young women.” She directed everyone’s attention to the photos on the board. “One is,” she crossed her arms over her chest and stared straight at her attentive, however annoyed, audience, “that they left of their own accord and they don’t want to be found. They’re certainly all of the legal age to make that decision and the only cause to consider vulnerability in these disappearances is the statements of the families who say the actions are out of character. Frankly, their statements are of little consequence, in my opinion. After all, what parent is going to say otherwise?”
“Not possible,” Chief Patterson objected. “We’ve been through that scenario already and it’s off the table, Agent Harris.” He sent a livid glare in Dan’s direction. “I don’t know why you’re behind the curve here, but I know the Parsons family nearly as well as I know my own.”
“Macy and Callie are honor students,” Griggs added his two cents. “They’re good, smart girls. They wouldn’t do this to themselves or to their families.”
“I suppose you also know those families nearly as well as you know your own,” Jess suggested. “Like Chief Patterson knows the Parsons.”
The tension thickened, forcing the air out of the room. Any inkling of humor he’d felt at her tactics evaporated. Sweat lined Dan’s brow. Jess needed to get to the point. If her intention was to piss off everyone at the table first, she was well on her way.
“Damn straight I do,” Griggs mouthed off.
“Burnett?” Patterson demanded. “What kind of dog-and-pony show is this?”
“Jess, maybe—”
Her hand went up to silence Dan a second time. “All right then,” she said calmly. “Let’s explore the other possibility.”
Dan gritted his teeth to keep his mouth shut. Her pointed censure had signed him up for that same PO’d club his colleagues had already joined. She was the only one still calm and wherever she was going with this presentation remained frustratingly unclear. These people—he—needed help. Not a block of instruction in identifying intent or motive.
