Kiss Me Awake (26 page)

Why a vacant property? That should raise some red flags. This couldn’t be good. “You know a lot about this man, William Gale. What he’s capable of, possibly his intentions.” He didn’t want to hear the answer, but he had to ask. “Is Jaida’s life in danger?”

He watched Auggie’s reaction. He was controlled, his expression neutral, but he observed the sudden tension that ran along his forearms to his hands knotted around the wheel.

“Possibly.” 

Spencer closed his eyes at the reply and said another silent prayer for her safety.

“Don’t worry,” Auggie said. “We’ll find her.”

But would they find her in time?

“You said you had some favors to call in?” Spencer questioned him, expecting him to elaborate. What favors, and what did that mean for Jaida?

“I’ve got the key suspect under surveillance, connections on the police force on alert, and a couple more irons in the fire.”

Was this really happening? He should have kept her safe somehow, monitored her life from a distance. Wasn’t that his area of expertise?

Auggie’s phone played the theme song to Star Wars. He took the call and Spencer listened to his half of the conversat
ion, memorizing what he’d heard. He said something about fingerprints, a parking lot, and an abandoned car.

Auggie hung up. “Jaida’s car was found in the parking lot of the Brea Mall. No prints. It was wiped clean.”

“What about her phone? Have you zeroed in on its location?”

He shook his head. “GPS isn’t picking up the signal.”

“This vacant house, is it the only thing we have to go on?”

He didn’t answer.

Spencer loosened the knot on his tie then yanked it through the tunnel of his buttoned collar. “I’ll take that as a ‘yes’.” He folded it in half and tucked it into his jacket pocket then reached for and unzipped the bag at his feet.

“We do have a tail on Palermo, but he’s probably wise to us.”

“
Lance
Palermo?” Spencer felt the familiar burn of jealousy. What did he have to do with this?

Auggie looked at him with more than a little surprise. “You know him?”

“You might say that,” Spencer said, and then asked the obvious question. “Palermo works for Gale?”

“He does.”

Jaida sure knew how to pick them. Spencer stared straight ahead. How could he love her and want to throttle her at the same time? He remembered the bag on his lap. He reached inside and pulled out a digital recorder, a cell phone, and the rest of his gear.

Auggie glanced over. “What’s all that?”

“Just some tools of the spy trade.” He managed a half smile and unplugged one of the cords.

“You’re eavesdropping?” he asked. “How did you hack into her phone?”

“Simple code,” Spencer said. “Not as James Bond as most people might think.” He hit ‘rewind’ on the recorder then ‘play
.
’ “I’ve been recording any activity since I left Los Angeles.”

Spencer glanced over at him. “Given your occupation, you should be familiar with this.”

“I am, but if GPS can’t trace it, what makes you think that’ll pick anything up?”

Spencer held up a silencing hand. “Just listen.”

After five minutes of dead air, Auggie gave him a sympathetic look. He held the speaker up to his ear and frowned. He wasn’t skilled in this area. It was a curiosity, something he tinkered with. What made him think he could actually…

Spencer sat up straight and brought the recorder back to his ear. “Did you hear that?” There was a faint shuffling sound followed by white noise.

“I did.”

Someone on the recording spoke. “Did you get it?”
Get what?
The sound was muffled. There was enough clarity to discern the words, but not the gender. Could be a man or a woman.

“Patience. I had an errand to run. I’m heading back in a few minutes.” It was another voice, distinctly different in pitch, but still garbled too much to define.

Back where? That house?

“Do I need to hold your hand to make sure this is done right?” It was the first voice.

“I can handle her.”

The conversation ended. Had the other one left, gone back to finish the job? There was no current activity. Spencer didn’t like what he heard.

“We need to call the police now and get them to that house.”

“Not yet.” Auggie whipped the car around in a sharp U-turn. “You said this was taped?”

“Yeah. What we heard probably took place between now and just before you picked me up.” Prior to that, he’d been listening in.

Spencer leaned forward, and Auggie looked over at him. “That’s not gonna get us there any faster.”

“I want the address to that house.” If he had to, he would make the call to the police himself, but he needed to know where to send them.

“Just sit tight. We’re going to that house ourselves. I need to make a quick stop at the office. I know someone who can help
find her.”

He didn’t like the
delay, but Spencer agreed. He would give him five minutes, and then he was taking matters into his own hands.

The stoplight
turned red and Auggie sped through the intersection. “Can I ask you a personal question?”

“Sure,” Spencer said, instantly regretting his heedless assent. Not wise when the question had yet to be posed. But then again, he hadn’t committed to answering either.

Auggie shook his head. “I love Jaida,” he said. Spencer gave him a dark look, and Auggie held up a hand. “Like a sister. I love her like a sister. She’s one of my closest friends, but I know how she lives.” Spencer knew where this was going, expected it sooner. “Why haven’t you divorced her?”

He’d asked himself that same question a hundred times over, even made appointments with attorneys, only to cancel. He loved her. But it was God’s love for her that kept him bound to her in spite of her infidelity. 

His eyes turned to water. “Love suffers long, Garcia. Love suffers long.”

From somewhere in the house, her captor raged, shouting obscenities loud enough to leave her quivering like a frail leaf in a violent wind. 

The closet shelf was narrow and scarcely wide enough to accommodate her. The pine board
she lay on was thin and weak, the center of it bowing under her weight. Jaida made herself small. Curled up on her side, knees bent, she tucked her chin tightly against her chest, praying the board wouldn’t snap in two and drop her to the floor like a heap of bricks.

“I know you’re in here, Jaida. And I
will
find you.” He slammed what sounded like a fist into something hard, and against her will, her body jumped at the impact. She clutched at the edge of the drapes piled on top of her and fought the tremors that threatened to give her away.

Cupboard doors banged and another door slammed shut. She hunkered down deeper, pressing her back into the wall. If he did find her she had one advantage over him and that was her hiding place. The moment she sensed him near, she would lunge at his head and fell him to the floor.

“You know, they say that clothing makes the man, but what about the woman?” he yelled. Something else slammed then rattled. Was it the oven? “But you…you’re the exception. I think you made the clothing that night you sat in the bar. It showed the world exactly what you are.”

A prostitute. That’s what he meant. It all made sense now, the reason he insisted she dress that way. Something inside of her withered with renewed shame.

“As far as the east is from the west.”
That was how far God had removed her sins from her last night. But it was another day, and the accusations he was making rang all too true.

Jaida swallowed, tasting the musty odor from the aged fabric that cloaked her. Was she kidding herself to consider her acts forgiven? No penance? No price? She knew the truth, had learned it as a child, but she also knew well the things she had done. The arrows of doubt hit their mark.

His threatening rants were a violent squall. He swore again, and the close proximity of his voice altered the rhythm of her heart.
God help me.

He wanted the money. He wanted it badly. Bad enough to kill for it, and whether she had it or not, she was as good as dead.

She’d left blood behind on the kitchen floor. She had stanched it with the hem of her shirt. There shouldn’t be a trail. But this house was small with few places to hide. If he really believed she hadn’t escaped, he would find her, and it would be over.

She was suffocating in here. She gulped in the hot stale air, anxiety tingling her hands and feet. Beads of sweat trickled from her hairline and into her eyes. She blinked and then held perfectly still. The floorboard creaked. He was only a few feet away. Her muscles tensed, prepared to attack, prepared to flee.

Please don’t let him find me.

As though mocking her request, the closet doors rattled, and Jaida imagined the horror of him jerking the curtain and peeling away her covering. She pressed her eyes closed, her trembling mouth moving in silent recitation.
“I will trust in the shelter of Your wings.”

She saw the image in her mind, God’s protective wing forming a shadow over her. He was her shelter; not this closet, not these drapes, not anything else.

“Come on out, Jaida. Time to pay up.” She could hear him breathing, see his shadowy visage through the loose weave of the fabric. He was close enough to reach up and yank her down.

Adrenaline surged, and she knew what she had to do. She would aim for his head and lunge, dropping him to the floor. Then she would gouge his eyes, and make her escape through the front door…if she didn’t pass out first.  

A phone trilled, and her heart jerked in her chest. His shadow thinned and disappeared. Jaida closed her eyes and breathed. He had left the room.

*

Spencer followed Auggie down the hall to a door on the right. It looked like every other door inside Baseel Detective Agency—hollow steel coated in blue paint. Auggie withdrew a small tool from his pocket, bent down and worked it inside the lock.

He looked up from where his head was level with the knob. “Jaida’s office,” he said, then pushed the door open. He stood.

“You’re pretty good at that,” Spencer said.

“I’ve learned a few skills in this business.”

Auggie fetched the sweater draped over the back of her chair and tossed it to him. “Hold onto this.” The white cashmere, soft and scented with Jaida’s perfume, whipped against his chest and dropped to his hands.

“What’s this for?” 

“Just hang with me. I need to make a quick phone call. I have a connection that will tell us if she is or ever was at that house.”

Spencer tossed the sweater over his shoulder. “Two minutes, Garcia.” He held up two fingers to reiterate his point. “That’s all I’m giving you.” 

“Yeah, I know.” With that said, he disappeared into another office, one he had the key to.

Cell tracker in his hand, Spencer paced the hallway, listening for any new developments. He didn’t like this waiting around.

“Can I help you with something?”

Spencer turned. A woman of about twenty-five, with reddish-blonde shoulder-length hair, sat at one of the desks.

He shook his head. “No, thank you. I’m just waiting on Mr. Garcia.”

She laughed. “I know that’s his name, but it sounds too serious for him. He’s never been Mr. Garcia to me. It just doesn’t suit him.”

She stuck out her hand. Spencer looked down at the offering. Not up for the pretense, he hesitated, but manners won out and he took it.

“I’m Aimee,” she said.  

“Spencer Gordon.” He engaged in the social game then slipped his hand away, burying it in his pocket. 

He leaned to his right and peered inside the office Auggie was in.  He was planted on the edge of a desk with the phone to his ear. Spencer urged him with a look to wrap it up. Couldn’t he handle this while they drove?

A hand on his elbow, he turned. “Can I get you anything to drink? Coffee? Bottled water?” she asked.

He shook his head. “I’m fine, but thank you.”

“There’s a comfortable chair.” She pointed to a waiting area just off the main lobby. “You can have a seat if you’d like.”

Auggie strode up beside her and handed her a sheet of paper. She looked it over and nodded then smiled up at him. “Nice meeting you, Mr. Gordon.”

“Same here.”

They headed back out to the street where they’d parked. “I just talked to a friend. He owns trained search-and-rescue dogs.” Spencer’s hand tightened around the sweater, understanding now why he was holding it. “If she’s in that house in the canyon or has been there, we’ll know.”

Auggie started the engine when someone tapped on his window. He rolled it down. A man, blond and in his early thirties stood there.

“Don’t you answer your phone anymore?” he asked.