by Kylie Brant
The other woman shook her head. “I asked, but she wouldn’t say. I’m not sure she even had a plan. She said something about staying safe until he was caught.” Julie’s mouth quivered before she firmed it. “I don’t know who he is. She wasn’t making much sense. I thought at first she was talking about her ex, but he hasn’t been in the picture for a couple of years. He went to Texas the last I heard and doesn’t send money. Doesn’t talk to the kids.”
“And his name?”
“Dennis Fastbinder. They never got married. Not a bad guy, at least so I thought at first. But no ambition and not an especially great dad, even before he took off. Lousy boyfriend too.” Her fingers never stopped fidgeting with the necklace. “So I guess I’m not such a great judge. I wanted him to turn out okay. I wanted Sheila, for once, to catch a break.”
Maybe Fastbinder was the mysterious Raymond who had been living in Selma Lewis’s house. Cady made a mental note to run a background check on the man.
“Where would she go, ma’am?” Julie Neve’s attention shifted to Miguel. “If she’s that frightened, she probably has reason to be. You have to help us get to her before someone else does.”
“I don’t know!” Julie’s eyes glistened with tears. “I think she’d want to hide . . . from whatever or whomever she feared. But she isn’t answering my phone calls. They go straight to voice mail. I’ve been going out of my mind with worry.”
For good reason, Cady thought. Because it was looking more and more likely the woman was in just as much danger as they’d feared. “What was she driving when she dropped the kids off?”
“Her car.” Julie blinked away the tears and straightened, as if her spine had been reforged with strength. “A 2012 silver Prius. We helped her buy it. She needed something reliable and gas efficient. She’s paying us back. She’s never missed a payment. Sheila’s made some dumb decisions in her life, but since the kids . . . she’s really changed. She’s tried so hard . . .”
A Prius. That was the vehicle listed under her name when they’d run the check, Cady recalled, sliding a glance at Miguel. The one they’d gotten local law enforcement to run a BOLO on, with no results as yet.
“What about Sheila’s friends? Is there anyone she’d call for help?”
Julie was shaking her head before Cady finished the question. “The people she ran around with back in the day . . . she’s avoided them since her arrest for drugs. She’s never mentioned anyone since then. I mean, first she was head over heels for Dennis. A woman sometimes neglects friends when a man’s involved. I think she just sort of kept to herself after he left. She’s focused on providing for her girls. It’s not easy, being a single mom.”
“Can you think of a place she would have known? Maybe one you went to as kids. Or one she’d visited and spoke to you about?”
Julie considered for a moment and then shook her head. “Not really. We never vacationed much when we were young . . . Oh!” Her face brightened. “There was a spot we went once. My dad was a gambler. Not a great provider most of the time, but one time he won several thousand dollars. He was talking big about taking us all on this great vacation. We got there and it wasn’t nearly as wonderful as he’d made it out to be. But we were kids, right? First time ever away from home. There was a pool with a slide and a big playground. We stayed for a weekend and had a blast.” She fell silent for a moment. “I don’t even know if it’s still there. The Freebird Motel, in Charlotte. It was my only time in the city until my twenties, believe it or not.”
“When did Sheila say she’d be back for the kids?” Miguel asked.
“I know she has a week off from work, but I’m not sure when it ends.” Her hand dropped to her side, as if she became belatedly aware of the death grip she had on her necklace. “She was indefinite. A few days, she said.”
“Thank you for your time, Mrs. Neve,” Cady said, digging in her pocket to come up with a card to hand to the woman. “If Sheila calls, please give her the number on the bottom there. We can assist her. Convince her to call us.”
Julie Neve stared at the card as if memorizing it. “I will. I promise I will.” Her gaze rose. “But I don’t know if she’ll contact me. You need to find her. You need to be sure she’s safe. I . . . I gave her cash. Five hundred dollars. It won’t last long. I’m scared for her. Now more than ever.”
“We’ll do our best, ma’am.” This from Miguel, delivered in his best “trust me” somber tones.
As they walked down the steps and toward their vehicle at the curb, Cady muttered, “I’m getting less and less certain we can get to Preston before someone else does.”
“We might be the ones she’s running from,” Miguel pointed out. “Maybe she’s just avoiding arrest. She had to have known she’d be caught on camera delivering that car to Aldeen.” He rounded the car to get into the driver’s seat.
“What are you doing? My day to drive, remember?” Cady had learned early she had to maintain clear ground rules with the man. “It’s your turn to overheat the car and choose crummy music channels.”
He gave her a look of exaggerated patience. “True. But if we’re tracking Preston around the city, you’re better at it than I am.”
“That sounds suspiciously like a cop-out.”
His smile was beatific. “It does. It also happens to be true.”
Disgruntled, Cady tossed him the keys and climbed in the passenger seat. Buckling her seat belt, she resumed their earlier conversation. “She could be running from the law. It’s equally possible Aldeen, or maybe even his buddy Raymond, is after her. Joe Bush proved Aldeen doesn’t believe in loose ends. Disappearing might have been the smartest thing the woman ever did. At least it buys her some time.”
“Until what?” Miguel started the vehicle. “She has to know she can’t hide forever. What’s she hoping might change in the next few days?”
“Guess we’ll ask her when we see her.”
Because nothing in their job was ever easy, there was no listing for the Freebird in Charlotte. With a little digging, Cady found the address where the business used to exist. They decided to head there anyway. It’s doubtful Preston would remember how to find the place, Cady thought as she began making a list of cheap motels in the Charlotte metro area. The woman would have been too young when she’d gone there. But she’d also lived in Charlotte for a time, according to the background check Fristol security had done on her. She could have grown familiar with the city then. Meaning there could be other places in the area she might run to.
“What’s that?” Miguel took his eyes off the road long enough to peer at the notes she was taking on her phone.
“A depressingly long list of dive motels in the Charlotte metro area. We know Sheila Preston worked at a place called Cisco’s with Aldeen about twenty-three years ago.” She did a quick check and discovered the place was still in business. “We have her former address when she was living here, also courtesy of the background check. So I say we get a city map and make a grid around the addresses of her home and work, looking at cheap motels in the area.”
“As good an idea as any. We should try Cisco’s as well. Maybe someone’s still there who would remember her.”
The possibility was no less remote than the chance of finding a single woman in a city of eight hundred thousand. Cady released her seat belt and reached over the seat for the briefcase holding the laptop and printer. When she’d settled it on her lap and resecured her belt, she turned on the computer and, finding the same city map she’d brought up on her phone, proceeded to print it and mark the motels she’d found.
Thirty minutes later Miguel’s words had her lifting her head from her task. “This is it. Or rather, the spot the Freebird used to sit on.”
Cady looked out the window at the place he was indicating. A small strip mall sat in place of the motel, with a nail salon, chiropractor, Chinese restaurant, and bedding store taking up the storefronts. “Okay. The place Preston used to live at is about ten miles from here. Cisco’s is two miles from her former res
idence. We’ll check all the motel addresses between here and there and then concentrate on those in the vicinity of where she resided and worked.”
“How many is that?”
“Believe me, you don’t want to know.”
“All right,” he grumbled. “But if I see a sandwich place along the way, I’m pulling in. Unlike you, I need regular meals.”
Cady was well aware of the fact. Miguel’s temperament was usually sunny to a fault. Deprived of food, however, it notched down to hangry in a heartbeat.
They hit five motels on her list in the next hour. For each they did a slow drive through the parking lots, looking for Preston’s car. After striking out at all five, they grabbed a quick bite before starting again. They were getting closer to the grid she’d drawn around Preston’s former stomping grounds.
“Seems to me she’d seek isolation. Maybe something on the outskirts of town.”
“Perhaps. But if it were me, worried someone is on my trail, I’d figure they have a description of my vehicle. So I’d find a place out of sight. Which meant I’d need restaurants nearby I could walk to. More than one. So people wouldn’t remember me.”
“Because you have a devious mind.”
“Part of my charm.” Cady directed him to the next address. Their progress was hampered because pedestrian traffic was heavy as they got closer to the heart of the city. Miguel pulled in to the address she’d given him, and they did a slow roll by the cars in the lot. The rooms were situated in an L shape, the office fronting the longest section. An alley adjoined the back of the lot, behind the shortest chain of rooms. Seeing nothing in the parking area, Miguel turned into the alley and then cursed as untrimmed denuded branches of thick brush scraped at the Jeep on both sides. He stopped. Prepared to reverse.
Cady leaned forward abruptly. “Wait. Keep going.”
“Not a chance. The only things back here are thickets and brambles.”
“There’s another parking lot behind those bushes on the other side of the alley. And I see a glimpse of silver.”
He swung the car into a wider arc to inch along the passageway. “Yeah, okay.” He was craning his neck as they drew closer. “Of course, there’re thousands of silver vehicles in the city.”
Cady was already unbuckled and set the briefcase at her feet before she unlatched the door. “I’ll check.”
She jumped out and walked closer to the overgrown brush. Dropping to her hands and knees, she grasped some branches and pulled them apart to make a space she could see through. There. Right there. She squinted at the Prius’s license plate. It was a match for Sheila Preston’s. She backed out, one arm raised to shield her face until she was out of reach of the brambles.
Miguel was rounding the hood to join her. “It’s hers.” Cady allayed his question. She looked over the surroundings carefully. The motel lot had been hemmed on both sides by an office building and a cell phone store. Instead of parking her vehicle in the motel lot, Preston had hidden it in the one across the alley behind more bushes. That area was likely used by the two old brick businesses flanking it. She walked a little farther down the alleyway. There was another access connecting the alley to the street in front of the motel. Other than these two entrances, one would have to go to either end of the block and around to turn into the passageway.
“Let’s check inside at the desk,” Miguel suggested. They both got in the Jeep. They had a warrant for Preston, so whoever was on duty would be compelled to answer their questions about the woman. But, Cady thought as her partner did a slow retreat down the alley before turning into the motel lot again, it’d be better if one of us was stationed outside, keeping the rooms and lot in view.
This close to the woman, Cady wasn’t about to take the chance of letting her slip away.
She let Miguel go into the office while she positioned herself outside their vehicle. Ten minutes later, he was out again and heading to their car.
“She didn’t sign in under her own name, but the clerk recognized the picture I showed him,” he said when he drew even with her. “She registered as Stella Pappas. He tried to claim the motel doesn’t have a policy about needing a credit card to ensure against damages. I figure he’s lying. Maybe Preston gave him money or something else to avoid showing a card. The clerk said she’s in one of these back rooms and has been for two days.”
They both got in the vehicle and prepared to wait. Although surveillance wasn’t Cady’s favorite part of the job, a thread of adrenaline unfurled along her spine. They were close. And there was no way they weren’t going to take Preston down soon. Whatever the wait, it would be worth it.
As it turned out, the delay wasn’t as long as it could have been. It was no more than fifteen minutes before Miguel murmured, “Here she comes.”
Cady’s head snapped up. Sheila Preston, wearing sunglasses, a hoodie, and jeans, was dodging traffic as she hurried across the street from a fast-food restaurant. She was headed for the lot where they waited.
Cady straightened, never taking her eyes off the woman. Even with the hood up, her face down, it was easy to be certain of Preston’s identity.
Neither Cady nor Miguel moved. She was certain of it. But when the woman reached the sidewalk in front of the parking lot, she raised her head sharply. Pausing, she surveyed the cars in the lot. Then she abruptly turned toward the office. Began walking rapidly.
Cady and Miguel jumped out of the Jeep. “Take the access to the alley on the right. I’ll go left. She’s headed toward her vehicle.” She tossed the words over her shoulder as she began to run. Miguel began jogging after the woman. Cady raced toward the entrance to the alley they had vacated only a short time ago.
She reached the short section of motel rooms and rounded it too quickly, getting caught on the needlelike branches of the brush lining the back of the rooms. Cady pulled violently away. Heard the rip of fabric. She could already see Preston emerging from the opposite entrance and sprinting toward the car in the lot behind the motel. Yanking herself free, Cady ran in the same direction. “Sheila Preston, stop! Deputy US—”
The rest of her words were lost as an explosion ripped through the air, a smoke-capped fireball mushrooming toward the sky. The blast lifted Cady off her feet, hurtling her backward until her body slammed into something solid. She was dimly aware of debris raining down on her. Then everything went black.
“You decent?”
“Yeah.” Cady reached for her jacket. She gingerly pulled it on over the T-shirt one of the ER nurses had found for her. The curtain around her cubicle was pulled aside and Miguel appeared, accompanied this time with Allen Gant. Twin gazes bored into her.
“Jesus, don’t get up.” Allen sprang to her side as Cady cautiously slid off the side of the hospital bed and stood, taking mental inventory.
“I’m fine. You didn’t need to make the drive over here.” A bit woozy, she tried and failed to zip her coat. It took a moment to realize there was no longer a zipper in it. The muscles in her legs and back were screaming. A troop of demented drummers had taken up residence in her head. But she was upright. And alive. She didn’t have to be told she’d been damn lucky.
“I said earlier I hoped she felt a helluva lot better than she looks. She assured me she did.”
Cady directed a glare at Miguel with the eye that wasn’t swelled shut. The single gauze bandage on his forehead somehow managed to look rakish. A reward for being a slower runner than either Cady or Sheila Preston.
“Shit, Cady.” Allen sounded horrified. “You look like hell.”
“And here I dressed up for you.” She’d taken one look in the mirror an hour ago and didn’t figure her appearance had improved in the intervening time. “It looks worse than it is, which is why I’m being released. Any change on Preston?”
Miguel shook his head. “The doctor said it could be days before we can interview her. But she’s out of surgery, and they’re cautiously optimistic she’ll recover. She was a lot closer to the vehicle than you were, so she has
burns they’re dealing with as well.”
“The CMPD bomb squad won’t have answers for us for a few days, either,” Allen said. “But preliminary details validate Miguel’s and your guess. There was some sort of incendiary device wired to the vehicle.”
“I told the detective who came to talk to me Preston never touched the car,” Miguel said. “She didn’t get close enough to it.”
“That means a remote trigger,” Cady murmured. It was tempting to reach out to steady herself by laying a hand on the bed’s side rails. She refrained. She wouldn’t show weakness in front of her supervisor. He’d mother hen her into taking sick leave. She wasn’t going to. Now, more than ever, they had to redouble their efforts on this case. “Preston had been at the motel for two days. If the bomb was on a timer, he wouldn’t have waited long to detonate it. Which means the person responsible was out there somewhere watching the vehicle, waiting for Preston to get near it.” Maybe he was overeager if he’d been out there for two long days and nights. That would explain why he prematurely detonated the bomb before Preston actually got in the vehicle. The woman wouldn’t have survived if he’d waited a minute longer.
“CMPD isn’t ready to publicly call it a bomb before their investigation is complete.” Allen raised a hand to stem Miguel’s and Cady’s words. “Privately, the bomb squad commander says your assessment is plausible. But bottom line is, they’re in charge of that investigation. They did agree with your suggestion to post a guard outside Preston’s door. You contacted her family?”
Cady nodded. Her supervisor pulled something from inside his wool coat. A file folder. “In the meantime, we got a name from the latents lifted off the doorknob and phone receiver inside Selma Lewis’s house. David Sutton, last known address in Greensboro.”
“Since you got a hit I’m assuming he has a sheet.” Surreptitiously, Cady shifted until her back was against the bed rail. She was less steady than she wanted to admit, but that could have been from whatever they’d shot her up with prior to the stitches in half a dozen places. Or from the jackhammering in her temples.
