We hurried into the next room, which was the empty living room, and stopped at the bottom of the L-shaped stairs. The moaning was coming from the second floor.
I was 90 percent certain the kidnapper wasn't here—or else why would Apple chance trying to call out? But just in case he was, I slipped my Glock from its holster. Then I tiptoed lightly up the stairs, making as little noise as possible, Caleigh a step behind me.
We reached the second floor and were met with four doors. Two were open. One led to an empty room, and the other revealed a bathroom. That left two.
I headed toward the one at the front of the house and froze when the moaning came from the other. I spun around and nodded to Caleigh.
I mouthed off a three count then pushed the door open, gun held in front of me.
But what I saw in the bedroom was not Apple bound and gagged.
It was a blonde woman, straddling a man on an air mattress. Naked.
At the sound of us entering, they both turned our way, legs, arms, and other naked bits flailing in surprise.
I blinked, too shocked to move for a moment. Then common sense kicked in, and I backed out the door, shoving Caleigh along with me.
The moaning woman screamed. "Intruders! She has a gun!"
The man yelled, "Who was that?"
Caleigh and I nearly tripped over each other running down the stairs.
I heard the woman a beat behind us.
"Freeze now, or I'll Tase you!" she yelled.
I froze. I'd been Tased before, and it was not a pleasant experience. I slowly turned around on the last stair to find her holding a small, black device and wearing a hastily fashioned blue silk robe. She was petite, smooth skinned, and had the perky boobs of a woman who'd been synthetically enhanced.
"Drop your weapon!" the woman demanded.
I did, slowly putting it on the floor in front of me.
A moment later a guy wearing a pair of boxers—thankfully!—appeared behind her.
"Who are these two? Friends of yours?" he asked.
"Hardly." Her voice was clipped and cold. Then again, I might not be in the best of moods if intruders had broken into my house while I was playing hanky panky with a hot guy.
"Look, we're very sorry," I started, not able to take my eyes off that Taser. "We, uh, had the wrong impression."
"What impression was that?" she asked.
"We heard moaning," Caleigh offered.
She quirked a brow. "Yeah."
"And thought someone was in trouble."
"Honey, that's the kind of trouble you want to be in," she said with a smirk.
"Uh, we were looking for someone else," Caleigh said, taking a small step toward the door. "Mistaken identity. Sorry."
The woman placed her free hand on her hip. "So you were trying to break in to a different house?"
"We're private investigators," I told her, reaching gingerly for my ID and holding it out to show her.
At the mention of our occupation, the corners of the woman's mouth dropped. "PIs? Did Kent hire you?"
"You know Kent?" I asked slowly. It stood to reason—she was in his house.
She narrowed her eyes. "He's my ex-husband."
Mental forehead smack. "And you got the condo in the divorce?"
"I will!" she said.
"Possession is nine-tenths of the law," the man behind her piped up, clearly some sort of legal genius.
"Besides, I've gotten just about everything else." She grinned, and for the first time I had genuine sympathy for Kent Perkins. This woman was enjoying taking him for all he was worth.
"We're really just looking for a friend of ours. We thought…we had an idea she might have been staying here," Caleigh said, being truthful while skirting the issue quite well.
"Well, clearly she's not here," the woman said. Then she wagged the Taser our way. "And you can tell Kent he better not be thinking about using this place as some sick love nest for his latest conquests."
I refrained from telling her she was the pot calling the kettle horny.
"Sorry, we'll, uh, just get out of your hair…" I said, grabbing my gun and backing out the door with Caleigh. The PI thing had seemed to take some of the wind out of her sails, and she didn't follow.
Still, Caleigh and I all but jogged to the car and quickly pulled away from the curb.
"Well, that was interesting," Caleigh said, checking her hair in the mirror as we drove back down the planned community's winding, narrow roads.
"That's one word for it."
"Wendell's rental properties next?" she asked.
I nodded. After what we'd already encountered that day, I couldn't wait to see what we found next.
* * *
As we pulled up to the first house on the list, I admit I had lowered expectations. I was starting to think we were on some wild goose chase and Apple was nowhere near Riverside after all. Sure the kidnapper had called Wendell from there, but that didn't mean it was where they'd been keeping Apple. And even if they had, it didn't mean they were still here. They could be halfway to Vegas by now.
I cut the engine in front of a squat, two-story house in an Eastside neighborhood in need of serious help. Sidings were dangling, windows were caked with dirt and grime, and several roof tiles looked to have fallen to the ground in the last sweep of the Santa Ana winds. The second floor was half the size of the first. It we were able to get inside, it looked like we'd be able to search the whole place in under a minute. No cars parked in the driveway. No sign of life coming from inside.
"Wow, who knew Wendell was a slumlord?" Caleigh said as we exited my car.
I had to agree. The house was more worn than most on the street, which was saying a lot considering the state of the street. It looked like someone had slapped these homes up as quickly as possible in the 1940s and no one had bothered to repair anything since. Historically, this part of town had housed immigrant workers from Mexico who'd come to farm in the citrus orchards. Living conditions had been rough then, and it looked like not much had improved, even if the landscape and industries were different. I had a bad feeling that even if a kidnapped woman screamed out for help in this neighborhood, no one would pay attention to it. Stuff like that happened on the regular here.
"Let's get this over with," I mumbled.
Caleigh tried the front door, and as with the last place, it was predictably locked.
We picked our way through overgrown weeds and discarded trash in the yard, checking both front windows. Both closed. Both covered in broken mini-blinds that blocked any view of the inside.
"I'll check the south side," Caleigh offered, heading around the left side of the property.
I went the opposite direction, staying close to the building. Two windows sat on this side of the house. The first one had a sheet tacked over it, but one corner had gotten loose, offering me a view of a small living room. No furnishings. If Wendell regularly rented this place out, it was currently vacant. The second window sat higher, also sporting a bed sheet curtain, though it appeared in worse shape than the previous. Half of it was tattered, exposing a good portion of the window. Luckily a helpful air-conditioning unit squatted beneath it, and I gingerly hoisted myself up on the metal box, willing it to hold.
I turned the flashlight app on my phone on and peered into the window. It looked to be a small bedroom, but it too was empty. Brown carpeting, stained in places, covered the floors, and a closet door was open, revealing a few stray wire hangers.
No furniture. No kidnappers. No Apple.
I made a move to get down when my phone flashed on something in the corner of the room by the door that caught my eye. I paused, moving my light back over the spot until it caught on the object again.
I felt my heart leap into my throat.
It was one sparkly gold platform heel. Just like the ones Apple was last seen wearing.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
I wasn't aware of making a sound, but I must have, as Caleigh came running around the back side of
the house.
"What is it?" she asked breathlessly.
I tried pushing up the window, but it was locked. "A gold platform heel. Like Candy said Apple was wearing the night of Wendell's party."
"I assume it's not attached to Apple?" Caleigh asked, sounding as if she wasn't sure she wanted to hear the answer.
"No," I said as Caleigh held up a hand to help me jump back onto the ground. "But she may be in there somewhere. Did you find any other access points?"
The delicate scent of Caleigh's lavender shampoo hit me as she shook her head.
Crap.
"We have to get inside," I said, looking up at the bedroom window.
Caleigh searched the ground and picked up a rock bigger than her hand. "You okay with some broken glass?"
"Go for it," I said. Breaking and entering was totally worth it if it meant finding Apple.
She wound up her arm like a pitcher on a mound and took aim. The rock hit the glass and fell to the ground. A small crack formed.
She picked up the same rock, stepped back to put some distance between her and the window, and raised her arm again. Before throwing it though, she glanced down at her pointy black heels, rotated her shoulders, and then took aim. Clearly the woman had some softball training I'd been unaware of.
This time the rock went through the window, and the glass shattered. Several large blades stayed affixed to the window frame, but the rest fell inside the room. That was going to be fun to climb over.
I looked over my shoulder to see if the sound had alerted anyone. If breaking glass was an anomaly in this neighborhood, it hadn't seemed to bother anyone. No lights suddenly going on in other houses. No one running from their front doors. I had a feeling people in this part of town learned to keep to their own business. Which suited me well.
I took off my jacket, rolled it around my arm, stepped onto the A/C unit again, and knocked the rest of the glass out of the frame. Then I hoisted myself up and over, jumping down to the floor. My momentum had me landing bent on my knees, hands pressed to the thin carpet, Thankfully, I didn't land on any shards, but the carpet felt matted and almost moist.
Ew, gross. I quickly stood upright and dusted my palm off on my hip. I held up a hand for Caleigh to grab as she swung her legs over.
I pulled my gun out and crept to the door, keeping my back to the wall as I peeked into the hall. It was dark but not pitch black, and none of the shadows moved.
Caleigh bent to grab the shoe I'd seen from the window and held it up. Its hopeful sparkles looked oddly out of place in this dismal surroundings.
"Just one," Caleigh said.
"Anything else in here?" I asked in a low voice as Caleigh scanned the floor of the dim room.
She pursed her lips and nodded. Then she crossed the room and pulled a couple of items from the corner near the window we'd just climbed through. She held up a dirty rag and a half-used roll of duct tape.
My stomach clenched. That wasn't good.
"Leave it," I instructed, thinking it might be evidence. "I want to search every nook and cranny of this house."
Caleigh nodded and joined me as we stepped out of the room and into the hall. With the help of her phone light, I could now tell that it was narrow and shorter than I had assumed, with two other doors before hitting the front of the house. Both of the doors were shut. We needed to be careful. Even though the place seemed abandoned, I knew looks could be deceiving.
One of the two doors led to another empty bedroom, and the other was a grime-filled bathroom. Neither held any clues to Apple or signs that anyone lived here.
We walked through the rest of the first floor, checking in closets, and it was all empty, even the cheap, ugly kitchen cabinets.
The stairs were by the front door. We climbed them, one behind the other, to the second floor. I went first, gun ahead of me as Caleigh shone a light from behind.
The landing at the top of the stairs was cramped, giving way to three doors. All closed. Caleigh leaned forward and opened that one first. It was a closet. An empty one.
I turned to the door to my right and found a bathroom. It wasn't as dirty as the one downstairs, and there was even a roll of toilet paper on the edge of the sink.
I heard a grunt and turned to see Caleigh leaning her weight against the other door. She was trying to force it open, but it wouldn't budge.
"The knob turned, and it moved an inch, but that was all," she whispered to me. "There's something blocking it from opening."
I stepped to my left to help, pushing my weight against the door as well. Slowly it began to move, and when there was enough space for a former model who loved beer battered onion rings to fit though, I squeezed in and shone my phone light on whatever was blocking our way.
I sucked in air, hearing my own gasp ring out in the silence.
A man lay slumped on the floor. Blood covered his temple and had pooled under his head. It looked like he'd been hit with something from behind. His lips were a shade of blue, his body stiff to the touch as I bent to check a pulse, and as my eyes roved the rest of him, I realized his arm was covered in a five-pointed crown tattoo.
Peter Rivera.
Great. My number one suspect was dead.
* * *
By the time the authorities arrived, the sun was beginning to set, casting an orange glow across the horizon. Though I had little time to appreciate the beauty as I stood outside the rental house and gave my statement—minus the real reason we were at the house in the first place—in triplicate to officer after officer and then again to the homicide detective who arrived on the scene looking like he visited this neighborhood way too often.
All the while trying to ignore the growing ball of concern gnawing at my gut.
Apple had been there.
Now she was gone, and the guy I thought had kidnapped her was dead. So where was she now? Had she escaped her attacker? As much as I liked the idea of Apple overtaking the former gang member and fleeing, I could tell that rigor mortis had already set in on Pete's body—which meant he'd been dead at least four hours. Probably longer, if his blue lips were any indication. If Apple had escaped that long ago, we would have heard from her by now. Which left the alternative—someone else had moved her. Possibly the person Pete Rivera had been working for? Wendell? It was his property. Or was someone else capitalizing on its vacancy? And where did that someone have Apple now?
My brain turned over a dozen questions, not coming up with any answers, as I finished giving my statement to the homicide detective. When he finally stepped away, a black SUV pulled up, and a familiar face emerged. Aiden.
The ball in my stomach suddenly felt like lead at the sight of him. I could only think of one reason he was this far outside of his jurisdiction, and it was yours truly.
He stepped out and was quickly met by my detective. They exchanged words, a few glances at the house, then the detective walked away, and Aiden surveyed the scene with a practiced eye before honing in on me. He rushed over, his gaze hard, his brows drawn in a line of concern. "Are you alright?" he asked as he approached.
I nodded, not trusting my voice as a sudden sense of safety at his presence overwhelmed me.
"You sure?"
I nodded harder, starting to feel a headache brewing.
"What happened?"
"Dead guy," I said, pointing.
Aiden's mouth curved into the slightest smile. "Yeah, that much I figured from the homicide call."
"Do homicide detectives in Riverside call the LA County ADA?"
"They do when you're involved." He paused. "Professional courtesy. I'm not here in an official capacity." Then he asked the question I'd been thankful the other police officers had glossed over. "What were you doing out here?"
I bit my lip. While the "no law enforcement" still rattled around in my brain, so did the well-being of my kidnapped friend who I feared was in even more danger of ending up missing permanently now. Clearly her abductor had no problem escalating from kidnapping to killing.
"We were looking for a missing woman. She's been kidnapped." I paused. "My friend Apple."
All hint of a smile disappeared, and Aiden was suddenly in prosecutor mode. "The dancer?"
I nodded, filling him in on everything. Once the dam broke, I couldn't stop the tumble of words. I told him about Apple going missing, Wendell's ransom call, Kendall and the mistaken identity, and the leads that had brought us here, to find a dead Pete Rivera. By the time I finished, I was exhausted—physically, mentally, emotionally. Laying it all out like that made everything feel more real, and I was keenly aware of time ticking down. I wasn't sure what the dead guy meant to our 24-hour ransom deadline, but I didn't think it bought us any extensions.
"I'm sorry I couldn't say anything sooner," I finished. "The kidnappers said no law enforcement or they'd kill her."
Aiden rubbed his jaw. "You know as well as I do how that usually pans out."
I swallowed hard. "Police or no police, abductees rarely make it home alive."
"Sorry." He put a hand on my shoulder, just as quickly morphing from Prosecutor to Friend. "I'm sure she's gonna be fine."
Which was completely hollow given his last statement. I cleared my throat, shoving the ball of fear, anxiety, and exhaustion to the side. If Apple was going to be fine, it was because we were going to find her. "They have any idea the time of death?" I asked, indicating the officers swarming the rental house.
"Probably somewhere around noon. Rigor has set in, but liver temp is still in the low 90s."
"We think he had Apple here," I told him.
"The shoe?"
I nodded.
"It's been bagged. They found some duct tape in one of the bedrooms."
That much I knew, but I kept my mouth shut.
"And it looks like someone had been sleeping in the room where the body was found. There's a mattress and some takeout containers."
"Where they had Apple?" I wrapped my arms around myself, overwhelmed with sympathy for the girl.
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