My Everything (14 page)

The yard was unkempt, weedy, overgrown. The dwellings on either side looked equally dilapidated.

Angel knew she didn’t have the luxury of a long inner debate about what to do. It was late at night. She had no idea where she was, but she could tell she wasn’t in a safe neighborhood. If it had been daylight, she would have run like hell. This time of night, she might get herself stuck in a situation that was equally as bad as this one, maybe even worse.

She heard Ben’s voice in her head.
Hide in plain sight.

Angel turned around and around, surveying the property. He’d look in the yard, she didn’t doubt that. When he didn’t find her in the house the yard was the first place he’d look. She couldn’t stay where she was.

Angel noticed a tumbledown garage beyond the house. He’d look there too.

She glanced at the back of the dark house. She saw a narrow cement porch, up two steps from the yard. It had an old, ornate, twisted wrought iron trellis that climbed from the base of the porch to the roof. She could climb that, easy as pie. She’d climbed trees that were much higher and had fewer handholds and footholds.

Angel backed up and studied the roof. It looked like there was a dip in one section, like a gutter for runoff. She could hide there. He wouldn’t look on the roof. She was sure of it. He’d check the yard and the garage and maybe drive around the block, but he wouldn’t think to look on the roof.

Angel jogged over to the trellis and shinnied up to the top in no time. She crawled over the shingles to the low area she’d seen, curled up onto her side, and made herself as small as possible.

For the first time since she woke up in the back of the van, Angel believed she might survive.

Once he couldn’t find her, she knew he’d take off because he’d assume she’d gone straight to the police. And that’s exactly what she intended to do as soon as he was gone and it was safe for her to climb down. Until then, she had to keep her head, hold still and hope nobody from either of the neighboring houses noticed her.

Angel turned and gazed up at the hazy sky, longing to hear her mother’s voice. Tears welled and filled her eyes and she knew if she didn’t regain control she’d be sobbing out loud. She pictured Ben’s face, the way he’d looked the last time she saw him. She kept the image of his face in front of her until she felt calm again.

If Ben was alive she had to warn him. Angel wanted to tell him what she suspected, that Julie’s brother planned to kill him. If Ben was alive, it was up to her to keep him that way.

Grace wasn’t sure
she’d heard Ben correctly so she asked him to repeat himself.

“He has Angel.”

Grace felt as if he’d just stabbed her in the heart with an ice pick. Not Angel. Oh my God. Not Angel.

“Tell me,” she demanded. “Tell me what’s going on and don’t give me any bullshit about how the information’s classified.”

Ben stared at her in silence for a moment then he filled her in. Grace listened to each and every word. When Ben stopped speaking, she sat back in her chair, numb with shock. His mother and stepfather must be terrified. She glanced in Ben’s direction. He must be terrified. His face was pretty ashen.

“Ben, when was the last time you had something to eat?”

His reply was a dismissive wave of his hand.

“You look like shit. You need some sugar in you.” Grace rose from her seat and opened the door. “Sergeant, could you do me a favor?”

He nodded.

“I think I need something to eat. Would you mind finding a vending machine and getting me a candy bar or some cookies? Anything would be fine. Thank you.”

When she dug around in her pocket for quarters, the crumpled piece of paper on which she’d written the license plate number floated down to the floor. After Grace handed the officer the money, she leaned over and picked it up. As she smoothed the edges of the paper something occurred to her, and she opened it, staring down at her own writing, her eyes growing wider.

“Ben, your family still lives in Austin, right?” Her eyes remained riveted on the piece of paper.

Ben grunted an affirmative.

“And Angel vanished on her way back from Lake Travis?”

Ben grunted again.

“I don’t want to speculate but you know that license number I wrote down? That van out in the parking lot?” Once more Grace smoothed the creases from the paper and she handed it to him. “I’m pretty damn sure this is a Travis County license plate.”

Ben’s hand shook as he reached for the paper. Grace watched him blink several times, but suddenly it seemed as if his vision became crystal clear, as clear as Barton Springs on a sunny day, and he knew. He rose from his chair and grabbed her by the arm. He pushed through the doorway, headed directly for the back of the hotel. Grace trotted beside him, barefoot, keeping pace with his long strides. She waved at the police officer as he returned, carrying a chocolate bar in his hand. He trailed after them. Ben, Grace and the sergeant exited the back door.

“Show me,” Ben said.

Without hesitation, Grace walked to the back of the lot and unerringly found the spot near the hedge. The parking spot, or the two parking spots to be precise, were empty.

“Shit,” Ben said. “You’re sure it was here?”

“Yeah, absolutely,” Grace replied. “It was here when I walked through the lot to the hotel.”

“What the hell are you two talking about?” asked the police officer, still holding the candy bar.

“A van,” Ben said. “There was a van parked here when Grace returned to the hotel tonight. She says it was parked in this exact spot last night, too. She wrote down the plate number.”

“Why would you do that?” asked the officer, a puzzled expression on his face.

“It’s a long story,” replied Grace.

Ben stood very still, gazing at the empty parking spot. Then he caught Grace’s eyes. She knew he was thinking the same thing she was. The van had been parked here last night, too, but Grace had spent the night in Ben’s room, in room 313 instead of 321. The implications chilled her to the bone.

Ben turned to the police officer.

“Can you get some lights out here and forensics? I think this is the man we’re looking for. No, I don’t just think this is the man, I know this is him.” He handed over the piece of paper with the plate number on it. “I need you to run this plate now. Grace, can you give him a description of the vehicle?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Here.” He dug a plastic bag out of this jacket pocket and gave it to the officer. “See if the prints on this photo match the prints in the hotel room.”

Grace jumped when Ben wrapped a hand in her unruly curls and pulled her to him. He pressed her hard against him, lowered his lips to hers and kissed her, his kiss urgent, passionate. Grace reached her hands up to cradle his face. She returned his kiss with equal fervor. Ben lifted his head and smiled. A glimmer of hope shone in his eyes. Then he let her go.

Grace stumbled back a few paces. She noticed that the police officer’s mouth had fallen open, and his eyes flashed back and forth between the two of them.

“Another long story,” said Grace in answer to his unspoken question. She turned to Ben. “You’ll find him, and you’ll find Angel.”

Ben was on
the phone to Tom before Grace and the sergeant had gone six feet. He rattled off the license number. He wanted to know where, when and who within the hour.

The forensics team, with Ben looking over their shoulders every step of the way, discovered that Grace’s attacker had climbed down three floors, leaving bloody handprints on every railing and a trail of blood to the exact area where the van had been parked. That confirmed Grace’s theory.

The problem was this man, whoever he was, had a big head start, over an hour. In a metropolitan area the size of Los Angeles, he could get lost and stay lost for a long, long time. Ben could only hope that Grace was right, that the son of a bitch would go home to hole up and nurse his wounds. Then if they could get an ID, they could track him down. Ben looked over at Grace. He reached for her hand.

“I know,” she said. “I know what you’re thinking. So am I.”

Ben gave her hand a squeeze. Then he drew her close and wrapped her in his arms. He needed to feel her body against his, for his comfort, her comfort, for both of them. He rested his chin on the top of her head.

“I’m afraid,” he said. “After what happened to you I’m afraid of what he’ll do to Angel.”

Grace nestled into his chest. She felt warm and soft, and he craved the solace her body provided. Her concern moved him. He would have kissed her again, but he was reluctant to embarrass her in front of the entire LAPD.

His cell phone rang. Grace drew back as he ripped it from his pocket.

“Yeah, Tom, give it to me.” He listened, staring at Grace. “Tom, can you get down here? We need to decide how to handle this. How much we want to give the police. And I need the prints expedited.”

Ben switched off. He saw the anxiety in Grace’s eyes and he knew he had to tell her.

“A month ago a man matching the description of your attacker bought a van from a woman in Austin. He paid six hundred dollars cash, and she signed the pink slip over to him. According to the DMV there, he never registered the vehicle. He told her his name was Tony. Since he paid the asking price, and according to her the van was a piece of junk, she didn’t care about a last name. Damn.”

“Ben,” said Grace, placing a hand on his arm. “Call home. It’s time you called your mother to let her know you’re alive and you’re trying to find Angel. And you need to get Angel’s most recent photo sent out here to the police.”

Thanks to that
fucking bitch he was bleeding like a stuck pig.

Roger Smithson could barely keep his left eye open. She’d scratched his cornea. He was certain of it.

“Goddamn motherfucking bitch whore.”

Saying the words aloud made him feel a little better. McCall’s whore, she should be dead right now, like his sister, Julie.

If that’s how they wanted it, he could play dirty, too. He’d slit her throat, McCall’s pretty little sister, and string her up on the fence for the entire world to see come morning.

He’d be long gone.

Ben McCall wasn’t the only person who could disappear. He could disappear. He had it all planned out. He’d leave the van in the tumbledown garage and drive away in the sedan he’d picked up in Bakersfield. He had his passport and his driver’s license in his suitcase in the trunk, along with an open ticket on Mexicana Airlines out of LAX. He planned to fly directly to Mexico City and then vanish. He could play dead for a long time. He had plenty of money stashed in a bank there and enough cash on hand to tide him over for a good long while.

Damn, his eye felt like it was on fire. Damn slut. He should have checked her hands.

McCall would have thought to check her hands.

He probably needed to have his cheek stitched, but he couldn’t go to an ER. That was the first place the cops would look. He’d clean it up when he got to the house. He’d stashed a first aid kit in the bathroom.

If McCall’s whore was staying at the hotel, McCall wouldn’t be far behind. He wondered if he dared go back and see if he could catch him off guard. That would be the last thing the man would expect.