Made To Love Her (6 page)

She rolls her eyes as she massages her neck deeper. “No, that’s not it.”

I study her. Lots of shit goes through my mind. Can I invite her to stay at Daisy’s? The thought of a beautiful woman like her staying in a hotel downtown alone drives me crazy. I want her near.

I shift anxiously in my seat. “How about you stay with us? I’m sure Daisy won’t mind.” Before Carter can respond, I call Daisy.

“Yes?” Daisy says, lifting her eyebrows.

“Do you mind if Carter stays with us?”

“Not at all.” She smiles invitingly at Carter.

“I’m staying with you too,” Monroe declares.

Allie turns her snarl on Carter. “You’re not going anywhere.”

Carter smiles at Daisy, completely ignoring Allie. “Thank you, Daisy. I truly appreciate it. I can use a good night’s sleep.”

Of course the fact that two guests are leaving Anne’s house is the start of another long conversation, which begins with Anne making sure no one else will choose to leave the confines of her hospitable domain. Then the conversation turns into building more mother-in-law quarters in the backyard, and Lexie uses that opportunity to pry into Daisy and Jack’s affairs by asking if Jack will be interested in doing the work.

“Isn’t he a contractor?” Lexie asks.

Daisy just smiles graciously and says, “You would have to ask him that yourself.”

“You don’t know whether or not your husband is a contractor?” Lexie persists.

Daisy offers her that smile again as she calmly puts the eggs on her fork into her mouth and chews as if she didn’t hear a peep from Lexie.

Monroe snickers. “Well, okay then—I guess you have your answer to that question.” She laughs louder. I think Daisy has just made a fan of Monroe—and hell, me too.

“
R
obert gave me this
,” Jack says.

We’re on his private airplane inside a cabin, standing in front of a long table that has a computer control center on one side. I find the whole setup jarring. What does Jack need with all of these computers and screens?

I turn my attention back to Jack. He’s already reminded me a number of times that I am not to ask questions—so I don’t.

“That’s Vince’s temporary phone,” I say.

“Yes.” He holds it up. “You see this hairline crack running down the middle?”

I squint to see it. “Yeah, I do.”

“It’s not there by accident. Watch.”

Jack puts the phone into something that looks like a microwave. He taps on a keypad connected to the machine, and it turns on. My lips are parted in awe as I watch a sheet of fluorescent light flow over the device. The computer system turns on.

“What’s happening?” I ask Jack, figuring that’s a question he can answer.

“The saturated light is extracting cells off the phone and making a digital copy of them.”

I study Jack with furrowed eyebrows. “I thought you were in commercial real estate.”

He sniffs a chuckle. “I am.”

“Then what’s all this?”

Jack studies me with one eye narrowed. “You’re good, Mags, but that’s a question I still can’t answer.”

There’s a loud beep.

“Over here,” Jack says.

I follow him to a flat-paneled monitor. He powers it on and works the keys. Robert’s face comes up. It’s a mug shot, and the side text says that he was arrested for drunk and disorderly conduct in 2013. A picture of me from the A&Rt directory comes up as well. Vince’s photo follows, then there’s one of a burly man with thick jaws, a bald head, and hard eyes.

“Bingo!” Jack starts reading his rap sheet, which is two pages long. “Assault with a deadly weapon, attempted murder, vehicular manslaughter…” Jack snorts. “This guy’s a pawn.”

“What do you mean?”

He glances at me then continues to grimace at the man’s image. “Douglas Randall’s rap sheet is not his own.”

My frown intensifies.

“He’s a man for hire,” Jack clarifies.

“How can you tell that by reading his rap sheet?”

“It’s pretty heavy for him not to be behind bars. He never got convicted for any of it. And here’s why.” He pulls up another list, which details court dates, attorneys, and judges. “Every one of them is dirty.”

“How do you know that?”

“I know,” he says confidently.

I’m standing here, looking at Jack, but I feel as if I’m spiraling down a rabbit hole. I shake my puzzled head. “What are you? Some kind of secret agent or something?”

He types on the keyboard. “I told you, Mags. I can’t answer that question. I’ve already shown you too much, but I’m choosing to do whatever it takes to find Vince, and the first forty-eight hours are crucial to finding him alive and well.”

I clutch my stomach. A sinking feeling rolls around inside it. I’m tempted to ask the one question I’ve been dreading. But the longer I stand behind Jack as he works on his control center, the closer the question inches toward the tip of my tongue.

“Pennsylvania,” Jack says. He rushes over to the phone on the wall and picks up the receiver.

He winks at me as he waits a second or two for someone to pick up. “How far are we from Teterboro?” He’s nodding. “Good.” He pauses. “How soon?” He pauses. “Then redirect.” After a beat, he hangs up.

“We’re going to New York?” I ask. My heart is beating a mile a minute.

“Yes.” Jack places another call. This time, he places it on speaker. After two rings, the caller answers.

“Jack?”

I already recognize the voice.

“Gray, Maggie’s here with me,” Jack says.

“Maggie? Hey, Maggie.”

It takes me a moment to process Gray Lansing’s 360-degree turn from being surprised that I’m here to being cordial about it. He’s done work for me for Mo&Ma. I always figured he was an undercover super hacker by day and a trust fund baby by night. I figured he hacked and spied to get his kicks and he just happened to be good at it. But here he is part of Jack’s clandestine operation.

“Hi, Gray,” I say.

“Jack, I pulled the shots you were looking for, but after you sent me a query request for Douglas Randall, I figured this is all you’ll need.”

Suddenly, images of a bald, burly man in a black jacket fill the screen.

“Got them,” Jack says.

He and I study the images from top to bottom. In one of them Douglas Randall is walking out of the car rental office, looking over his shoulder. In another shot, he and two other slimy-looking men get into a black car with tinted windows, which is the same kind of car Robert saw Vince standing next to. One of the guys slide behind the wheel, and the other two get into the backseat with Douglas.

“Did you pull the details on the two others?” Jack asks.

“Sending them through right now,” Gray says.

That sick feeling in the pit of my stomach intensifies, and I have to throw up, but I make myself keep it in. There are shots of the car driving down the highway, passing a gas station that I’ve seen many times while taking the road to Anne’s house.

“They’re in Anne’s neighborhood,” I say.

“The neighbors’ surveillance systems captured them.”

I shake my head. This is all insane. “I mean, is any of this legal?”

Jack looks at me with a blank expression. I read his face loud and clear—he’s not going to answer.

I clutch my stomach. The queasiness is too much to bear.

“I’ll be back,” I say before running to the lavatory. Once I’m there, I lift the lid of the toilet and stand over it, waiting for something to happen. I feel nauseated, but I haven’t had a meal since lunch yesterday. I remain still and take another assessment of my body.

“Gosh, Maggie,” I whisper. I ball up my fists and press them over my eyes. I’m gripped by a powerful feeling of sorrow and loss.

A sound surrounds me, and my lips are moving, but the words are coming from outside of myself. I hear my voice repeating, “What are you going do?”

I drop my fists from my eyes. “Get a grip.” If I fall apart, then I’ll be no good to anybody, let alone myself. I pull a bunch of tissues from the holder in the wall and wipe the tears from my eyes and cheeks. Then I blow my nose and stare at myself in the mirror. My sad and lonely image reminds me that this is real. There’s no waking up from this nightmare. This. Is. Real. Vince is missing. Three thugs took him—one with a rap sheet longer than my leg. And now, by use of some incredible and extraordinary means, Jack is going to find him. Choosing to hold on to that hope, I throw the tissue away and walk back to the cabin.

Jack is leaning across the control center, reading the screen. He turns to look at me. “Are you better?”

I nod. “Um-hum.”

“All right.” He faces the screen again. “We’ll be landing in thirty minutes. I’m not going to put you in any dangerous situations, but I’ll need you to drive me where I tell you to take us.”

I nod again, but realizing he can’t see me, I say, “Okay.” My throat is tight, and my body is jittery.

“When was the last time you ate?”

I hug myself. “Um, yesterday.”

Jack nods. “Okay, well, there’s a meal waiting for you in the main cabin. Go eat; try to relax.” He stands up straight and smiles at me. His optimism already makes me feel a little better, at least well enough to follow his instruction.

I put my hand on Jack’s shoulder as I pass him.

He puts his hand over mine. “Don’t worry, Maggie. Heads are going to roll for this. You better believe it.”

I look deep into his eyes. I’m jolted by something within Jack that I have never seen before. I believe him. I just saw a man equally, if not more, dangerous to the one we’re out to find.

A
s Jack said
, our plane touches down in Teterboro thirty minutes later. I’m still alone in the main cabin as the plane taxis across the runway. I chose not to return to Jack’s high-tech room because at the moment, it’s a little overwhelming. I’m just ready to get out there and find Vince. I’ll feel better once we’re finally on the ground, getting this done and over with.

The plane stops. Jack walks out from the back. He’s wearing black pants and a black T-shirt with utility boots. With his bulging biceps and broad chest, Jack’s presence fills the cabin. It appears to me that he’s ready to fight. However, that reality is not computing. Jack isn’t a fighter. He’s a fixer—a caring man who uses his money and contacts, not his fists, to get what he needs done. At least that’s what I thought.

He barely looks me in the eyes as he sweeps past me. “Get ready to disembark.”

I nod, but my head feels as though it isn’t attached to my neck. I unlatch my seat belt.

Jack knocks on the door to the cockpit, and the co-pilot opens the door. He goes inside just as the flight attendants come out from a small room adjacent to Jack’s private room. The woman and man barely acknowledge me when they pass. They work with the ground crew to open the door.

Jack steps out of the cockpit. “Let’s go, Maggie.”

I rise to my feet. My legs are trembling, and I’m unable to control it. Jack is the picture of confidence and competence. It’s as if he’s been in this situation a million times before. He stands by the doorway, waiting for me to take the ramp first. That’s the Jack I know—still chivalrous.

He smiles firmly at me as I pass him. I pause, waiting for another assurance that everything is going to be fine, but at this point, he probably has no more guarantees to offer. I let my shaky legs walk me down the ramp.

A sleek gray luxury coupe with tinted windows is waiting for us near the bottom of the ramp. As agreed, I take the wheel, and Jack gets in the passenger seat. He puts the buds, which are connected to a compact computer tablet, in his ears.

“Follow the road out,” he says.

I squint at the clock on the dashboard. It’s seven minutes until noon but feels so much later than that. However, that’s a good thing because we still have the whole day ahead of us. I start the car and take the road to the exit, which is easy to find. I’ve flown out of and into Teterboro enough on one of Jack’s, Charlie’s, or Vince’s private planes.

“Get on the I-95 North,” he says.

“Okay.” I glance at Jack, who’s staring straight ahead. That feeling from earlier washes over me. My cousin Jack has left the house. Who is the guy I’m sitting next to? Something tells me I’m about to find out.

I
’ve already taken
I-95 to Highway 1, and now we’re in Trenton, New Jersey, heading toward Pennsylvania. I shift uncomfortably in my seat. I have a great urge to ask Jack where in the world we are going.

I cross the Delaware River. However, Jack hasn’t changed that intense look on his face since I started driving, and frankly, I’m a little intimidated by it. Clearly, he’s the one in charge; I’m just along for the ride.

“No one can know that I’m using what’s available to me for this personal mission of ours,” he says out of the blue.

I quickly turn to face him. “I won’t say anything.” He looks me in the eyes, and before I know it, the question drops out of my mouth. “Do you think he’s alive?”

“Make the next right,” he says.

Anticipation hangs in the air as I wait for an answer. I make the next right and glance expectantly at Jack.

“I think so,” Jack finally says.

“Why do you think so?”

“Because I feel it in my gut.”

I narrow my eyes to slits. I’m not sure if I want to cry, sigh with relief, or yell at him for placating me.

“I don’t believe you,” I say calmly. Tears rush to my eyes. I win the battle to hold them back.

Jack sighs sympathetically. “In times like this, don’t think about the future. Focus on the here and now, because that’s where we’re the strongest.”

I take a minute to grasp what he’s saying. He’s right. The present is all we can control at the moment.

“Make the next left,” he says.

In about three hundred feet, I turn into a residential neighborhood.

“From this point on, don’t look at the addresses,” he says.

I frown. I wonder why, but I don’t ask. Instead, I let Jack guide me down a maze of streets until he tells me to park in front of a house.

I turn to my right and observe a white house that needs a paint job and new roof. “Is that where he lives?”

He pulls a messenger bag from under the seat. “Where who lives?”

“Douglas Randall?”

He glances at the house. “No. Stay put. Lock the doors and don’t open them for anyone but me.”

He doesn’t wait for me to respond to his directives before hopping out of the car and heading down the street behind me. I study him through the rearview mirror. The bag is hanging on his shoulder as he strolls casually, as though he’s a resident who walks this street every day. However, I lose sight of him when he turns down the next block.

I press the lock button, and the doors click. I sit as still as I can be. At this point, all I can do is wait. I close my eyes, take three deep breaths, and work on remaining in the present.