His friend lifted a corner of his mouth—his version of a smile—and handed him the pages of Nikki’s code.
“Just try and stop me.”
Payton stuffed the computer printouts in a pocket of his flannel shirt and headed for the front door, but by the time he got there, the phone rang. He stopped dead in his tracks, and for a split second stared at Joe and his sister. It didn’t take long for him to jump to some pretty dark conclusions. He knew this call could change everything.
For the mother of a missing child, every phone call could bring life or death. His sister raced to the phone after the initial shock wore off.
“Hello.” Susannah held the phone tight, her knuckles white with the strain. She shut her eyes tight—to block out the rest of the world—and fresh tears squeezed onto her cheeks. After listening for a long moment, she fixed her eyes on Payton and shook her head.
He stepped closer, feeling the weight of Joe by his side. Payton reached for his sister’s hand and locked his fingers in hers.
“Can I put you on speaker, Trooper Fitzgerald?” she asked, her voice trembling. “I’ve got my brother and Joe Tanu here. I need them to hear this too.”
By the look on his sister’s face, Payton wasn’t sure what to expect.
Susannah punched a button on her phone and spoke again.
“Go ahead. You’re on speaker.” She wiped the tears from her face with both hands and took a ragged breath.
Payton recognized Dan Fitzgerald’s voice when he came on the line.
“I know you folks are waiting for good news, but I just wanted you to know we’ve had a break. And in cases like this, we gotta run down every lead.” The trooper cleared his throat. The sound came across far too loud in the quiet room. “Hey, Joe. Long time.”
“Yeah, Fitz. What’s happening? You got something to chase?” Joe kept the man on track, but by using his nickname, he reminded the trooper of their personal connection.
“Yeah, it seems some kid from Anchorage spotted Nikki getting into a car up at River Park around one. He was camping there with friends and he told us Nikki tried to pretend she was using the restroom, but she had a duffel bag with her, hidden in the bushes.”
“And where’d you find this kid? Could he be blowing smoke? Maybe he’s trying to divert the search.” Joe’s take on the case deflated Payton’s fragile spirit.
He knew Joe had made valid points, but only wished that Susannah didn’t have to hear them. She looked desperate and in need of encouragement. Reality would come soon enough. The trooper’s voice broke in and pulled him from his morbid thoughts.
“Nah, some folks in town have seen this kid and vouched for him. And he recognized her from the photo we used to canvass the town. A lucky break, I’d say, ’cause he was fixin’ to leave today. We caught him packed up and eatin’ breakfast at The Moose Nugget, Joe.”
“Did he remember the car? See anyone inside?”
“Too dark to see anyone inside, he said, but he remembered it was a Subaru and gave us a partial on the plate.” Fitzgerald described the Subaru in more detail, then asked, “Any of you recognize the description? Would Nikki know someone who owned a Subaru like that?”
Payton shrugged and looked at his sister, who was shaking her head.
“Susannah says no, Fitz,” Joe replied. “Did you run the tag?”
“Yeah, we did. I got Anchorage looking into it now.”
Joe narrowed his eyes, an uncharacteristic look of concern on his normally stoic face. With the Alaska State Troopers main headquarters located in Anchorage, Payton suspected Anchorage troopers would get involved sooner or later, but this soon? By Joe’s expression, it looked as if he had the same question.
In most states, troopers focused on traffic and highway patrol duties, but due to the limited accessibility and government presence within the state, the Alaska State Troopers enforced all criminal laws too. They served as primary law enforcement for most Alaska residents. For the Anchorage headquarters to get involved so soon after Nikki’s disappearance, Payton drew one conclusion. The troopers had begun to realize that Nikki wasn’t just another runaway.
“Not that I’m complaining, but why is Anchorage involved so soon?” Joe asked.
“It appears we got enough of a partial to ID the vehicle, so we’re running a background check on the owner of record. It’s registered to a local schoolteacher in Anchorage. They’re bringing her in for questioning. I’m heading there now, but before I leave town, do you know any reason why Nikki would get into the car of a woman teacher from Anchorage?”
Payton turned to his sister. By the look on her face, he knew she was thinking the same thing. The implication of Nikki being taken to Anchorage by a stranger chilled them both.
“I want in on this, Fitz. Stay put. I’m heading your way.” Joe didn’t hesitate. Nor did he ask Payton and Susannah for consent to get involved. After all, family didn’t need permission.
Joe ended the call, not waiting to hear the man’s objections. “We need you by the phone, Susannah, in case Nikki calls. Can you handle it alone?”
His sister nodded, her eyes filled with cautious hope. “Do you think she’s there, Joe…in Anchorage? With this teacher?”
“We won’t know until we question the woman, but anything is possible. We’ll call you when we know something.” After Joe gave Susannah’s arm a reassuring squeeze, he fixed his dark eyes on Payton. “You’re driving, hotshot.”
Payton leaned over to give his sister a kiss on the cheek, but before he pulled away, Susannah grabbed his arm.
“Please…find her, Payton. She’s all I’ve got.” Fresh tears filled her tired eyes.
Payton wrapped her in his arms and held her. “You’ve got Joe and me on your side too, sis. We’ll find her.”
He only hoped he sounded more confident than he felt.
Downtown Chicago
The late afternoon sun poked through the clouds, resurrecting her mood from the depths of where it had been, but not by much. Still, it felt good to get out from under the dismal clean-up of her apartment. Sam had helped until her shift at Cop Town. Together, they had made progress, but after Sam left, the task became torturous. Once Jess got her front door replaced and secured, she had to get out. And only one thing dominated her mind.
Baker’s damned laptop. And Seth Harper had it.
With feet planted on the sidewalk of Lake Shore Drive, she reread the street address scribbled in her own handwriting, completely stumped. When she looked up to confirm the number, the exclusive condominium project and the spectacular view overlooking the glistening waters of the Chicago harbor baffled her. Scrawled on a piece of torn paper, the address had been taken from her employment record of one Seth Harper, her first and only new hire. And from the outside of the building looking up, she counted the floors to make sure her suspicions were correct.
“Well, I’ll be damned.” She didn’t believe her eyes.
At the light, she walked across the street, making an effort not to limp. Her body still felt battered, one of the reasons she covered up with a long sleeve tee and jeans. In her condition, she’d be a sure standout where she was going, no matter what she had on. The imposing bright red awning and elegant black and gold double doors loomed ahead. She tried not to be intimidated by the fancy real estate. Seth had Baker’s laptop, and maybe by now some of his secrets.
Once Jess got inside the small foyer of imported marble and inlaid gold, a set of security doors barred her access unless she buzzed the correct residence. Seth had given her number 602 as his place. Just as she thought, the little weasel laid claim to—
“The penthouse, my ass.” She crumpled the scrap of paper with his address, jamming it into her pocket.
Most of the other residents had surnames listed beside a button. Hit the buzzer, say your name, and the security doors opened. Simple. Except suite 602 didn’t have a name listed. She buzzed it anyway. Once. Twice. On the third try, she kept her thumb on the buzzer, replicating SOS in Morse code. Still no Seth to chat her up on the intercom or buzz her in.
“Well, I don’t have all day, Harper. Time to improvise,” she muttered under her breath.
One by one she went down the row, punching buttons, like playing Russian Roulette with the rich and famous.
“Publishers Clearinghouse. Prize patrol.”
No reply. She went on to the next one.
“Candy Gram.”
Still no answer.
“Domino’s Pizza. In thirty minutes, I’m hot and ready.”
Buzzzzz.
The security door clicked open.
Jess rolled her eyes as she caught the door and went inside, still pondering her new hire. Seth probably lied on his job application, but she had no room to cast stones. She wasn’t above stretching the truth herself. Not too long ago she’d gotten the idea to post a job for a “summer intern” with the weekly
Chicago Gazette
advertiser. She had stretched reality paper-thin on the job post. And crappy wages was all she could afford, so why pay for an ad? Free was firmly within her budget. If she got a nibble, she’d reel the sucker in. It was worth a shot.
Her subtle subterfuge had been completely free of guilt. After all, who would look for a career worth having in a free paper?
Only one applicant applied. Seth Harper.
To legitimize her freelance Fugitive Recovery enterprise, she actually had the gall to interview the kid, giving her an option to toss his vague pencil-written application if he
turned out to be a real flake. In the end, she liked his easygoing nature, and his eagerness charmed her, so she hired him on the spot.
But standing in one of the trendiest locales on the Chicago loop, she found her ego rearing its ugly head—a clear case of double standards she fully condoned. Duping him was fair game, but the other way around was nothing less than insulting.
Damned straight!
“If you lied about living here, Seth, I’m gonna kick your punk ass all the way to Gary, Indiana.”
Once inside the elevator, she punched the button for the penthouse suite. Overhead, a chandelier tinkled as the elevator rose and a high-pitched violin played classical music ad nauseam over the speakers. The overdose of pretentiousness made her edgy. She felt out of place like a decked-out hooker at High Mass, especially when she caught her own reflection in the shiny elevator doors. Even pricy light fixtures did nothing for her appearance.
One side of her face—the already scarred side—had a raised welt at her cheekbone, the size of a fifty-cent piece. The dim lighting didn’t help. If the little ferret misrepresented his home address, she’d make a fool of herself knocking on the door of the Grand Poobah of the posh suites. Mr. Moneybags in 602 might use the boys in blue to give her the bum’s rush from his doorstep. And she didn’t need another beef with the cops.
But when the elevator door opened at the top floor, a sound caught her attention. On massive imported rugs costing some serious coin, she walked toward the noise while gaping at the high ceiling with its elaborate crown molding. Deep rich cherry-wood doors were gilded by gold hardware, and exquisite artwork was displayed under subtle lighting.
Only four suites occupied the floor. And music came from the one down the hall, suite 602. It was a song she
recognized—and one she had a hard time picturing the Grand Poobah gyrating to the driving beat. “The Only Song” by Sherwood blasted through the door. The base rhythm rocked the walls. Someone played it loud and proud, and it penetrated through the sound-dampening acoustics of the top-notch construction.
Jess fought a grin. “Harper? If I’m about to make an ass of myself, at least I’m doing it to damn fine tunes.”
When the music died down, ready to shift songs, Jess took a deep breath and punched the doorbell. For good measure she whacked the fine cherry wood with the heel of her fist. From inside she heard the song end and nothing new replace it. She cocked her head and pursed her lips, waiting for someone to open up.
For an added element of mystery, she pressed a thumb to the peephole. Her version of an icebreaker. In no time the door cracked open and Seth peeked over a gold chain.
“Jess, what are you doing here?” He undid the chain and threw the door open, his face in shock when he got a good look at her. “Are you okay? Did the police do that?”
He grimaced and pointed. His eyes took in the fresh damage to her face.
“Don’t be melodramatic, Harper.” She stepped inside and resisted the urge to gawk at his digs. “Cops use rubber hoses. The bruises don’t show as much. Remember that.”
After taking a good look around, she whistled in complete admiration of more than just the panoramic view of Lake Michigan. The kid lived in a regular Taj Mahal, Chi-town style. A damned museum. The best of the best. Exquisite oil paintings and top-of-the-line furnishings were no doubt picked by the hand of the finest interior decorator money could buy. And someone was a big game hunter. Exotic animals in all shapes and sizes adorned the luxury suite, forever frozen with their fierce eyes and barred teeth. Stephen King would have appreciated the eerie cross between
House Beautiful
and
Creep Show
.
“Way to go, Harper.” She nodded her approval. “How did you score this place?”
The kid jammed his hands into his jean pockets and barely looked at her, giving her an open invitation to yank his chain again.
“And better yet, it doesn’t look like anyone objects to your ear bleedin’ noise decibels. In my hood, the cops would come knockin’ for sure.”
Seth shrugged. “No one else lives on this floor. The other suites are empty.”
Jess narrowed her eyes and studied him. The kid looked like a visitor here, wholly out of place and alone. And he definitely tipped the scales on the forgotten side.
“That’s ’cause not many people have the jack to live here,” she said.
Her voice echoed into the penthouse suite, a hollow, empty sound. And she got a sense that he lived alone. She wasn’t sure how she knew this, but the feeling hit her strong. CDs and DVDs were strewn across a fancy rug near a mile-long velvet divan in the formal parlor dead ahead. Baker’s laptop lay on a sheet of plastic on the rug. But other than that incidental clutter marring the picture perfect decor straight out of
Architectual Digest
, she couldn’t be sure Seth really lived in suite 602 either.
“It’s not what you think. I just know…” He avoided her eyes again. “…certain people.”
“Okay, now you’re sounding like someone off
The Sopranos
. Are you ‘connected,’ Seth?”
Jess hooked her fingers in air quotes and grinned, but when his only reply was another lame shrug, she let him off the hook.
“If you don’t wanna discuss it, that’s cool. But just remember, you’re talkin’ to a very stubborn woman. If I wanna know somethin’, all I gotta do is exercise my keen investigative skills.”
She winked and turned her back on him to snoop for real
this time. But in a huge beveled mirror in the ostentatious foyer, she caught his reaction. Tall and lanky, Seth’s cheeks blushed with embarrassment. Tousled wavy dark hair curled at his neck, making him look like he’d just crawled out of bed. And she would have killed for his large brown eyes framed by thick lashes, a picture of innocence she could never pull off. The kid was dressed in faded jeans torn at the knee and a black Jerry Springer T-shirt.
Yep, Seth Harper was a real charmer—and one snappy dresser.