EVERY
PRECIOUS
THING
It was supposed to be a fun weekend, a celebration of a marriage and growing family. Alan Lindley couldn't have been happier...until his wife Sara disappeared.
Asked by a mutual friend to help look for her, Logan Harper is sure he'd discover a wife who simply wants out of the marriage.
What he finds instead is a woman who didn't exist, a diabolical plan, and people who would do anything to keep it a secret, including taking the life of the person most important to him.
What would you do for those precious to you?
ALSO BY BRETT BATTLES
THE JONATHAN QUINN THRILLERS
Novels
The Cleaner
The Deceived
Shadow of Betrayal (US)/The Unwanted (UK)
The Silenced
The Returned (Spring 2012)
Novellas
Becoming Quinn
Short Stories
Just Another Job – A Jonathan Quinn Story
Off The Clock – A Jonathan Quinn Story
The Assignment — An Orlando Story
THE LOGAN HARPER THRILLERS
Little Girl Gone
Every Precious Thing
THE PROJECT EDEN THRILLERS
Sick
Exit Nine (late 2011)
STAND ALONES
Novels
The Pull Of Gravity
No Return (January 2012)
Short Stories
Perfect Gentleman
For Younger Readers
THE TROUBLE FAMILY CHRONICLES
Here Comes Mr. Trouble
You’re In Big, Mr. Trouble (Late 2012)
EVERY
PRECIOUS
THING
BRETT BATTLES
A LOGAN HARPER THRILLER
TABLE OF CONTENTS
Book Description
Also By Brett Battles
Dedication
Chapter 1
About the Author
Enjoy Thrillers? Learn About These Great Books:
Desert Places by Blake Crouch
Obsession by Debra Webb
Becoming Quinn by Brett Battles
Sick by Brett Battles
Little Girl Gone by Brett Battles
For my brother and sister,
Darren and Dawn,
who’ve had to put up with me
their whole lives
CHAPTER ONE
“IT’S NOT HERE,” Sara Lindley said as she dug through her purse.
Her husband Alan looked over her shoulder into the bag. “It’s gotta be there somewhere.”
“It’s not,” she told him, her tone of desperation growing. “It’s gone.”
“But you had it earlier.”
“I know I had it earlier. But I’m telling you it’s gone now.”
“Could you have left it somewhere? One of the shops?”
She was already shaking her head before he finished. “I never took it out.”
“Are you sure? Maybe you did but didn’t realize it.”
She looked at him, exasperated. “Now why would I have done that?”
“I don’t know. Maybe someone asked you for ID?” he suggested, trying to keep his voice calm. “I’m just trying to think of possibilities.”
Sara closed her eyes and took a breath. “I know. I’m sorry. Here.” She held out the purse to him. “You check.”
Not taking it, he said, “Honey, I believe you.”
“A second set of eyes is always a good thing.”
He almost smiled at that. It was something he’d said to her in the past. He let her give him the purse, then carefully searched through it. She’d been right. Her passport was definitely not there.
“Oh, God,” she said as he handed the bag back to her. “What are we going to do?”
Alan looked at the traffic that was backed up on the road beside them, each car waiting its turn to reenter the United States from Tijuana, Mexico. Unlike those in the vehicles, he and his wife had left their car in a stateside parking lot and walked in.
“Let’s retrace our steps, and see if someone found it,” he suggested. “Maybe you just dropped it somewhere.”
Though the frown on her face made it clear she didn’t think their chances of success were very good, she said, “Okay.”
Up until that point, it had been a wonderful day, finishing off an equally wonderful weekend. They were celebrating, after all. While they’d been married for nearly a year, the final piece that solidified their life together had just been completed the previous week. He was now officially the father of Sara’s two-year-old daughter, Emily. They were truly a family now, and nothing would ever take that from them. He couldn’t have been happier.
Leaving Emily with Rachel and Kurt—his sister and brother-in-law who lived in Simi Valley—he and Sara had traveled south from their home in Riverside for a pre-anniversary romantic getaway. They’d spent Saturday in San Diego, splitting time between the beach and the zoo, then on Sunday, at Sara’s suggestion, had gone even farther south to Tijuana. The plan was to drive back home that evening.
But now, Riverside might as well have been on the other side of the world, because without Sara’s passport, she wasn’t getting back across the border.
It took over an hour to check all the places they’d visited earlier, but no one had seen Sara’s dark blue booklet.
“I’m sorry,” she said, trying to hold back tears. “I don’t know what happened.”
Alan put his arms around her. “It’s okay. Don’t worry about it. We’ll just explain that it was stolen. I’m sure it happens all the time.”
“But they’re not going to let me back through,” she argued.
“They’ll have to.”
“No, they won’t, Alan.”
She was starting to get worked up again, but he knew she was right. A decade ago, a person could pass back and forth across the Mexican border with just a driver’s license, but that all changed when the towers came down. These days, no passport, no entry into the States.
“There’s got to be an American consulate in town,” he said. “Someone there will know what to do.”
“Alan, I’m so sorry.”
He locked eyes with her and smiled again. “Sweetheart, it’s okay. Really.”
“I’m such an idiot.”
“No, you’re not.”
“I am.”
He chuckled. “Well, you’re my idiot.” He looked around. “I’ll grab a cab. I’m sure the driver will know where the consulate is.”
As he started to raise his arm, she said, “Oh, no.”
“What?”
“I don’t have any other ID on me. Since we were together, I didn’t think I’d need my wallet. My driver’s license…it’s in the car. I’ll need that to prove who I am, won’t I?”
It took all his will to suppress a groan.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “Since I had my passport, I thought that would be enough.”
“It’s okay, don’t worry about it.”
“Don’t worry about it? We need it.”
“I know.” He paused for a moment. “Here’s what we’ll do. I’ll go back and get it, while you find out where the consulate is. We’ll meet…” He looked around. There was a restaurant across the street with a bar that spilled out onto a patio. He pointed at it. “Over there. You can grab a drink while you wait.”
“Do I look like I need a drink?”
“I think we both do,” he said, giving her an encouraging smile. “Now which bag should I look in?”
“The red one,” she said, after a moment’s hesit
ation. “In the pocket on the side.”
He gave her a hug and a kiss. “I’ll be as quick as I can.”
As he started to move away, she pulled him back.
“I love you,” she said, kissing him again.
“I love you, too,” he told her. “Now stop worrying. It’ll all be fine.”
“I know it will.”
__________
AS ALAN CROSSED back into the States, he explained to the officer what had happened, hoping that maybe the guy would tell him just to bring her through. What he got instead was a confirmation that a trip to the consulate was in their future.
By the time he reached their car, nearly thirty minutes had passed since he left Sara by the restaurant. Anxious to get back, he immediately unlocked the trunk and popped it open.
For a second he thought he was at the wrong car, but his key had worked, and there, against the side, was his suitcase. But where were Sara’s bags?
He leaned in and looked beyond his luggage, but it was a ridiculous gesture. No way her bags could have been behind it without him noticing.
Thinking maybe he’d put them in the backseat and forgotten, he rushed around and looked inside the cab, but of course they weren’t there. He hadn’t forgotten. He’d put them in the trunk when he’d put his own bag there.
He returned to the rear of the car and looked into the trunk once more. Why would someone only take Sara’s bags and leave his?
He was just about to pull out his cell phone so he could tell Sara what was up when he noticed the corner of an envelope sticking out from under his suitcase. He pulled it out, then nearly dropped it again when he saw his name written on the front in his wife’s handwriting.
With more apprehension than he’d ever felt in his life, he opened it and read the letter inside.
Alan,
Don’t come looking for me. You won’t find me. I wish I could have told you in person, but I might never have left. Whether you can accept it or not, this is for the best. Please don’t let this affect your relationship with Emily. She’s blameless, and now, more than ever, she needs a father. She needs you. I love you. Believe that or don’t, but I do.
I hope that one day you will be able to forgive me.
Sara
He read it twice, the words so hard to understand that it almost seemed as if they were written in a foreign language. When he finally finished he stared at the paper, his mind in a haze.
A voice started deep down in his gut—a whisper at first, but soon a scream that flooded his skull, jerking him back to the here and now.
“No!” it yelled. “No!”
He looked toward the border crossing.
The word then spilled from his lips. “No!”
Leaving the trunk of his car wide open, he started to run.
CHAPTER TWO
LOGAN HARPER WAS having lunch with his dad in the break room of Dunn Right Auto Repair and Service when Joy stuck her head in and said, “Harp, you’ve got a call. Line three.”
“Tell them I’ll call back when I’m done,” Logan’s dad said.
“They said it’s important.”
Harp frowned as he set his sandwich down and stood up. “Who is it?”
“Someone named…um…Mueller, I think.”
“Mueller?” Harp looked at Logan. “Your uncle Len.”
With a smile, Harp walked over to the phone mounted on the wall, and punched the button for line three.
“Len? What’s going on?”
The smile on Harp’s face froze, then faltered. “Oh, no,” he said as he closed his eyes for a moment.
Logan rose quickly from his chair and went over to him. “You all right, Dad?”
Harp shook his head and waved him off. He said into the phone, “When?…I’m so sorry…I understand. Don’t worry about it…Of course. What time?…We’ll be there.”
When he hung up, he just stood there, staring at nothing.
“Dad?” Logan said.
A second passed, then another, and another. Finally, Harp looked over. “What?”
“What’s going on?”
His father hesitated. “It’s…Len. He passed away this morning.”
Len Mueller wasn’t a blood relative, but that didn’t matter. He was as much an uncle to Logan and a brother to Harp as any man could have ever been. The Mueller family and the Harper family had lived on neighboring farms back in Kansas where Harp had grown up. Len had been best friends with Harp’s older brother Tommy. They had both served in World War II, and while Len had come back—minus two fingers on his left hand—Tommy hadn’t returned at all. Len had done what he could to fill in for Tommy—helping Harp, advising him, teasing him, and eventually serving as best man at Harp’s wedding.
Now he was gone, and with him Harp’s connection not just to one man but two.
Two and a half days later, Logan and Harp drove up the coast to Marin County, north of San Francisco. They stayed in a motel in Sausalito that overlooked the bay, then headed to Mill Valley the next morning for Len’s memorial service.
Church first, then a line of cars made their way out to the cemetery where at least three dozen people gathered around the gravesite. Sons, and daughters, and grandsons, and granddaughters, and a few old friends like Harp and Logan. Len had been a kind man, easy with his laugh and his smile. They had all hoped Len would live forever.
Because of his military service, an American flag was draped over the casket, and a four-person honor guard stood at the ready.
“You holding up okay?” Logan whispered to his father.
Harp’s response was no more than a quick nod. Logan could feel every breath his dad took—the shallow, shuttering intakes, the deep gasps, and the pauses in between.
As soon as the reverend finished speaking, the honor guard surrounded the casket, raised the flag, and with practiced precision, folded it into a neat, tight triangle. The servicewoman who ended up with the flag walked over to where Len’s five children sat and reverently handed it to Michael, who, at sixty-two, was Len’s oldest.
The reverend said a final prayer as the casket was lowered into the grave. One by one, the mourners walked by the opening in the ground, dropping in a handful of dirt as they passed.
As Harp’s turn came, Logan rose with him, putting a hand on his dad’s back to steady him.
“I’m okay,” Harp said, then walked to the grave unaided.
When he dropped in his dirt, he paused a second and said something Logan couldn’t hear before he continued on. Logan tossed in his handful of soil and followed his father, catching up to him just before he reached Logan’s electric blue El Camino.
“I don’t know if I can go over there,” Harp said once they were inside the car.
Logan knew his father was referring to the reception that was about to start at Len’s house. “We can go back to the motel if you’d rather,” he suggested.
Harp sat silently for a moment, then said, “It would be rude not to stop by at least.”
“Don’t worry about it, Dad. They’ll understand.”
Harp looked at him, his face a mix of uncountable emotions. “You think so?”
“Yeah, I do.”
His father thought about it, then nodded.
__________
WHEN THEY PULLED into the motel parking lot, Harp said, “Maybe we should have gone.”
“We still can, if you want.”
“I just don’t know.”
Logan hated seeing his dad like this. Harp was always the positive one, the one who kept things going and encouraged others to keep their heads up. And to Logan especially, he was also invincible, a stone that shouldn’t crack. That’s how most children saw their parents. Even when Logan’s mother had died, Harp had kept up a strong façade though Logan knew his dad had been deeply affected by her passing. Of course Harp had been younger then, more in control. Now he’d reached an age where he was outliving his friends, including the brother who was not his brother.
“Why do
n’t we go for a walk?” Logan suggested. “We can grab a coffee, look at the houseboats. They’ll be at Uncle Len’s for hours. If you want, we can go over after we get back.”
Harp almost smiled. “Yeah. I’d like that.”
Most of Sausalito’s famous houseboats were located along piers at the north end of town. It was a long walk, but it turned out to be just what Harp needed. After a while he started talking, telling Logan stories about Len, about Kansas, and even a couple about his brother Tommy—a subject he’d always been less open about. By the time they grabbed a coffee on their way back, Harp seemed if not himself then at least improved.
“I don’t know about you, but I’m up for an early dinner,” Logan said. “Maybe catch a movie on TV after?”
Harp said nothing for a moment. “I’d like to stop by the cemetery on our way home in the morning.”
“Sure, Dad. Whatever you want.”
“Okay,” Harp said, looking relieved. “That sounds good.”
As they crossed into the motel parking lot, Logan said, “There’s that Indian restaurant here that’s supposed to be pretty decent, and I thought I saw a sushi place when we drove in.”
Harp lit up. “Sushi sounds good.” He’d developed a fondness for California rolls in recent years. “Let’s—”
His pace slowed to a stop as his gaze locked onto something in the distance. Logan turned to see what it was.
Standing near his El Camino was Callie Johnson, Uncle Len’s youngest child and only daughter, still wearing the same black dress she’d had on earlier. She was somewhere in her mid-fifties now, and when she’d been a young undergrad at Cal Poly in San Luis Obispo, she’d make a few extra bucks by occasionally driving up to Cambria and babysitting Logan.
Harp shook off his surprise and walked quickly toward her.
Every Precious Thing (A Logan Harper Thriller) Page 1
