Safeword (25 page)

Blaine lowered the animosity a touch. “I’ll do that, thanks.”

Myah stuck her hand out. “Thank you for calling this in. Seriously.”

He shrugged. “Well, if I help you, next time I need it, maybe it won’t be such a chore to get.” He held her hand a beat too long, until she looked pointedly between his face and the handshake. He laughed and released her.

“We may have follow-up questions. You’ll be around, right?”

“For you, absolutely. Not going anywhere,” he leered, which brought a wooden smile to her lips.

Blaine locked the door behind us, and I carried the folder and its precious contents in a death grip back to the car, not taking chances that an ill-timed wind gust would scatter them. In the safety of the car, Myah turned on the overhead light. I gingerly opened the folder and stared at the jewel within.

It was a driver’s license picture bearing the very real, very adult face of Alex Dennan. The match to Sugar’s composite wasn’t exact, but it was damned close. Close enough that Blaine Jansen recognized him weeks later.

“I’m taking Sugar out for dinner for his work on this,” I said, reverently stroking the image. Something else caught my eye. “Hey, look at this.” I pointed. “Recognize it?”

Myah’s eyes widened. “The address matches Strange’s.”

Our gazes locked. “We have our link to that bastard.”

The world surrounding this case shifted, righting itself on its axis just a little bit more.

Because Alex Dennan stared up at me from proof he’d been living under David Strange’s thumb, albeit under a different name.

Carter Black.

BY THE time we arrived at the station, people were trickling in for the morning and out for the night. I didn’t even stop at my desk, instead bee lining for the copier, making a ridiculous number of copies of the license. When I returned to my desk with the stack, Myah held out her hand, seemingly on the same wavelength.

“None of the Carter Blacks in the DMV database match that ID. Gimme a copy, and I’ll run the number.” I passed over the sheet and she yanked it out of my hand, leaving behind a paper cut.

“Easy there, tiger.”

She ignored me. “Not expired, and this number has no hits. Fake. Why would he get a fake ID that puts him at Strange’s house if he’s free now?”

“Maybe he didn’t. Maybe he had it while he was living with Strange.”

“What for?”

I shook my head. Anything we considered now was just speculation. Myah sailed right into planning mode.

“So we distribute those copies to patrol and send them out near Master Key. Search hotels, restaurants, shelters, or hell, even street corners. Someone’s bound to have seen him.

My desk phone warbled. I checked caller ID and did a double-take.

“What the hell is Victoria calling me for?” I asked no one in particular. Myah’s head snapped up as I sat and pointedly ignored the ringing.

“Aren’t you going to answer it?”

“I’m busy. Besides, there’s really nothing she can say that I’m interested in.”

Once the ringing stopped, I lifted the handset and called Ben on his cell. Traffic sounds hummed in the background when he answered.

“Going in early?” I asked by way of greeting.

“Might as well. I couldn’t go back to sleep. Did you get a good lead?”

“Oh yeah. Current picture and alias, and pretty solid proof of Strange’s involvement. That’s why I’m calling. I’m going to be late tonight. Canvassing with the new photo, seeing if we can’t shake this guy out of his tree.”

Ben was quiet, then, “Please be careful. I love you.”

“Ditto,” I replied, tone softening. “Don’t worry about me. Canvassing is boring.”

“Until it’s not,” Myah muttered. I scowled at her.

“Okay. Call me later if you have the time,” Ben said.

“Sure,” I agreed, saying goodbye and disconnecting. Almost the second the line cut off, my cell rang on the desk, vibrating loudly against the metal surface.

“Man, Grand Central Station all of a sudden.” I didn’t recognize the area code. “This better not be a solicitor. DeGrassi,” I barked into the mic, probably gruffer than necessary. Myah went back to her computer screen. Silence on the phone. “Detective DeGrassi,” I repeated. There was a lot of background noise, but it was undecipherable. Probably a crank caller. I’d taken the phone away from my ear to disconnect when a faint voice spoke.

“Officer DeGrassi?” I gritted my teeth at the title but didn’t get a chance to correct it. “Are you there? Can you hear me?” I didn’t recognize the voice, but it was vaguely familiar.

“Yeah, I can hear you. Barely. Who is this?”

“Marshall Schofield. I’m at the airport. Can you come pick me up?”

My eyes bugged out. “What are you doing in town, Marshall?” That got Myah’s attention. I nodded, confirming her unspoken question. “Aren’t you supposed to be on vacation with your parents?”

“Yeah, real vacation when we couldn’t leave the rental house so no one would spot us. I was climbing the walls and sick of the internet. So can you come get me?”

His distraction was obvious, the worry palpable over the line. Maybe he was afraid I’d refuse.

“Yeah, I’ll be there in about fifteen minutes. Do you remember what I look like?”

An overhead announcement drowned out some of his words. “—re the only one left I do remember.”

I instructed him on where to wait for me and rang off. “Give me your keys.” Deftly catching the set Myah pitched me, I rose and strode toward the door. Halfway there, Myah grabbed my arm, spinning me partway around.

“Take this.” She shoved a copy of Carter Black’s driver’s license in my hand. I had no idea what one of Strange’s kidnap victims was doing here, presumably without his parents, but it felt like a big deal.

One more time, my phone rang—Victoria again. She could definitely wait.

The passenger drop-off at Lambert-St. Louis International Airport was the only area where parking for a few minutes was possible. Although it was for quick drop-offs, people used it for quick pick-ups, too, as long as the person being picked up was waiting right there. I’d gotten it down to a science.

Marshall stood at the last airline’s door, wearing sunglasses, a baseball cap, a hoodie, and plaid shorts which hung to his knees.
Must’ve been somewhere fairly warm.
It was too cold in St. Louis for shorts just yet. I pulled into the last empty parking space and left Myah’s car running. Busy with his cell phone, he didn’t look up.

“Marshall,” I called, getting his attention. He looked around as if expecting people to crowd him upon confirmation of his identity, but no one paid any attention. Hefting the bag at his feet, he approached with caution. I couldn’t see his eyes because of the sunglasses he wore, and his jaw was set and grim.

“Officer DeGrassi?”

I cringed, but tried not to let him see it. “Yeah, but it’s detective. Come on, let’s get you out of here.” Reaching in the car to pop the trunk, I watched him hurryiedly shove his bag in and scramble into the passenger seat. I got in beside him, and then pulled forward into the drop-off area’s exit lane.

“Is it all right if I sit up front?” he asked belatedly, rubbing his palms up and down his thighs. Nervousness wafted from him like heat shimmers on a blacktop road.

“Sure. You’re what, seventeen now? I could probably let you drive me around, instead of the other way around.” I gave him a sidelong grin, trying to ease the tension, but he just looked at his hands, fidgeting in his lap.

“I don’t know how to drive yet. My dad was talking about teaching me, but....” He trailed off. “We couldn’t get enough free time to do it.” I could barely hear him over the hum of the tires on the highway.

I cleared my throat, mentally chiding myself at my mistake. Of course he didn’t know how to drive. Strange had kept him locked in a basement when he should have been getting his permits.

“So, uh, what brings you to St. Louis? Is everything okay with your parents? Do they know you’re here?”

His head jerked up. “No, and you can’t tell them, or they’ll just come get me and drag me back to solitary confinement. I’m so sick of not being able to go anywhere!” That last bit was heaped with frustration, a near shout in the quiet cab of the car. I didn’t react, other than to nod and take in my surroundings, the location of other cars on the road in case I needed to move quickly to the shoulder or take a convenient exit. Everything about him, from the hunched shoulders near his ears to the war his fingers waged with each other and the jiggle of his foot beneath the dash spoke volumes about his twitchy state. Anyone else would be giving him a pass. He was just a kid, but he was a kid who’d been through hell, had endured a nightmare no one could possibly imagine without having been in it with him, and I was certain he was volatile.

However, there was also the fact that he’d been missing from his parents’ care for more than four years, and they’d only just got him back three months ago. They had to be going out of their minds. Frankly, the more I observed of him, the more I realized how precariously he was holding on. On impulse, I pulled off the interstate and into a fast food parking lot, throwing the gearshift in park but not turning the engine off.

“Are you hungry? I’ve been up for a while, and I wouldn’t mind some breakfast. Want something?” It was nearing 9 a.m. and for him to have flown from wherever he had been with his family, he’d been up pretty early himself.

He took off the sunglasses and looked at me with red-rimmed eyes. Whether it was from fatigue or crying, who knew, but they were dry now. After a moment, he only nodded.

“I can’t go in there, though. People will recognize me and then all bets are off.”

I squeezed his shoulder. “I’m pretty sure no one will make a big deal about it. Anyway, you can find us a table, and I’ll get our food so you don’t have to talk to anyone but me. Sound good?”

He nodded and got out, shoving his hands in the front pocket of his hoodie and stalking toward the restaurant with his head down, glasses firmly back in place. I kept a good distance from him, but stayed close enough to block him from anyone approaching if he should have a reaction. In that moment, I really wished Ben were here. Not only would he know what to tell me, he’d be able to put Marshall at ease with his easy-going manner and absolutely trustworthy face. Maybe it wasn’t a bad idea to call him once I’d figured out what Marshall was doing here. He was a consultant for the department anyway, when certain cases demanded it, so there wouldn’t be any trouble with the brass over it.

The smells inside the restaurant were equally inviting and off-putting. I wasn’t a fan of fast food, but if it helped Marshall trust me, I’d stomach it with a smile. I got his food order and asked him to find us somewhere to sit while I paid and waited for it at the counter. Settling into a high-backed booth with him a few minutes later, I divvied up the wrapped breakfast sandwiches and hash brown cakes and remained silent as he sipped his soda.

After a few moments while we ate, he spoke up. “So I guess you want to know why I’m here.” He’d carefully not answered that question the first time I’d asked, but I figured he needed some time to work out the words to use.

“I’m curious what would drive you to sneak away from your parents to come back to this city, yeah. And whatever it is, I would like to help.”

He blew out a puffy-cheeked breath, and then nodded, seemingly to himself. “I need to talk to you, but not here. Somewhere we won’t be overheard. It’s about Alex.”

All movement ceased. The world faded and disappeared, and my vision tunneled to this boy, my attention riveted on him. He briefly met my eyes, and he looked so miserable, so dejected, my heart constricted. I had to take a deep breath to break the iron bars that threatened to crush my chest. Outwardly, I showed no sign of anything. One wrong look or word from me could send the boy scurrying away again. That decided me on the question of calling Ben.

“What about Alex?” It was as neutral as I could make it.

“Not here, okay?” He glanced around nervously, though as I’d predicted in the parking lot, no one paid us any mind.

“Of course. I can take you back to the station to a private conference room or would you feel more comfortable talking somewhere else?”

He shrugged, shredding a napkin. “Station’s fine. I don’t mind being around other cops. You guys don’t look at me with the pity everyone else does. And back after... I was rescued, I remember you gave me your card and told me you aren’t an expert on what I went through but you knew how I felt. I believed you. I wanted to call you so many times, but I couldn’t get away from my parents long enough to get any privacy.” He grimaced. “They barely let me go to the bathroom without asking where I’m going. In my own house. Forget a normal trip to the grocery store or out to a movie.” His eyes welled up and darted to my face and away again, one lone tear slipping out despite his herculean effort to get himself under control. “I’m still someone’s prisoner.” He barely said the words, but I heard them anyway.

“Not here, you’re not. I’ll be honest with you, though. People at the station are going to want to talk to you the minute we walk in the doors. I’ll do my best to keep everyone away, but if you’re okay with it, I’d like my partner and one of our consultants to be allowed to speak with you. Obviously, this is important to you or you wouldn’t be here.” I figured a little candidness on my part would help him relax and trust me more, so even though it might’ve shown weakness, I threw him a bone. “But I gotta tell you, Marshall, I’m nervous about saying something wrong to upset you or make you feel like everyone else makes you feel. If I do, please tell me so I don’t keep doing it. I went through something pretty bad myself a while ago, so I know what it’s like for people to not know how to talk to you. But that doesn’t mean I automatically know what to say.”

He nodded. “You saying that already makes you different than anyone else who’s tried to help me since I got home.”

“Okay. And listen, you’re not going to be happy about this, but we have to call your parents. They need to know where you are.” He started to protest, but I held up my hand. “Marshall, this isn’t negotiable. I will vouch for you, tell them you’re safe with me, and we’ve got you taken care of until they can get here, but they need to know. Put yourself in their shoes.”

He scowled at the last bite of his breakfast burrito, and then chucked it onto the tray in frustration. “I know. Every time I ask about going out, they say no and ‘put yourself in our shoes,’” he said mockingly. “I know they had it bad, but goddammit, they weren’t there. Not allowed out of a couple rooms in some guy’s basement for years except toward the end, and only then with
him.
” He waved his hand emphatically, his frown deepening.

“Your parents need to know, Marshall. They’ll be terrified. And at some point, you’ll have to go home again.”

He crossed his arms defensively over his chest. “I’m almost eighteen. Then, I’m outta there.”

I couldn’t say I blamed him. He hadn’t been in control of his own life for years, but if he had even an ounce of trust in me, I owed it to him to say something. “I don’t think anyone would blame you for wanting independence. No one knows what you’ve been through the way you do. I will only say this, and then drop it. It’s scary, what you’re facing. Your identity is very much wrapped up in what’s happened to you, and I can tell you’re desperate to break that link. But it’s not going to come easy or quick. Give yourself time, Marshall. Your parents support you, and I doubt very much they’d think twice about doing so financially for several more years while you get your feet back under you. You should take advantage of that, because if you’re out on your own, and you suffer delayed triggers like I did after a serial killer attacked me, you wouldn’t have anyone to fall back on.” His eyes went wide. “So I know what I’m saying, and if what I dealt with had happened when I was your age, I’d have needed my parents’ help. Best advice I can give you is to get them in on your therapy so they realize their protection is stifling. Then you can find a workable dynamic that fits all of you.”