Vanished (12 page)

Hopefully soon,
Ava thought.
And it will be good news.

Ava didn’t put much weight on the ransom note. It didn’t ring true. Was it simply meant to mess with their heads? Or was someone hoping to challenge the FBI’s skills and win?

Good luck with that.

Back at the house, she left Robin to work out her frustrations in the kitchen. Lucas and Jake were watching an Indiana Jones movie in the spacious family room.

“Where’s Lilian?” she asked.

“Reading in her room,” Jake answered, without taking his gaze from the screen. “We’re doing a marathon. She said she’d rather read.”

In Ava’s opinion, a marathon of Harrison Ford was good medicine. She went upstairs and tapped on Lilian’s closed guest-room door. The woman answered, tissues in hand, her eyes bloodshot.

“Hey,” said Ava. “Up for some company?” She’d planned to simply ask if Lilian needed anything, but the puffy eyes made her heart hurt and moved her to offer a shoulder.

“No, I’m good actually,” Lilian said, dabbing her nose. “I was in a funk for a while, but I think I cried myself out of it.”

“Sometimes crying is what you need.” That statement was lame, but Ava had no idea what to say to the woman. She was acting on her gut instincts. Duncan had said she was the right person for this job, so he must have seen something in her that he believed would work well with the family.
Just be here to listen.

“Jake and Lucas are watching movies. Do you want to come down? Maybe simply getting out of this room would help. A change of scenery.” Lilian had spent a lot of time in the spare bedroom. Too much time alone.

“No, I think I’m going to nap. Crying wore me out,” she said with a forced smile. Ava studied the woman, wondering if she should do more for her. Was she failing Lilian?

“Okay. Come down if you can’t sleep.”

“I suspect I’ll be asleep in sixty seconds.” Lilian closed the door.

Did she have sleeping meds? Ava stood in the hallway. Should she ask if Lilian was self-medicating? Was it any of her business?

She’d done her part. She’d offered and been refused. She wasn’t a psychologist.

She was an investigator, and every cell in her body was itching to get to the command center and see what was going on. She’d checked in with her charges. All were stable. She should be allowed to leave, right?

She strode through the kitchen. Butter and sugar were being creamed together in Robin’s stand mixer. More desserts. Robin looked satisfied and calm in her kitchen. Ava couldn’t improve anything there. “Have you heard from Mason?” Robin asked.

“No. He told me he had to address some things at work and didn’t know how long he’d be.”

“I’m here.” Mason stepped into the kitchen from the utility room next to the garage entrance.

Ava started to smile at him and froze.

What’d happened?

He looked . . . fake. As if he were trying to hide an uproar behind a calm face. She glanced at Robin, who didn’t indicate she noticed anything unusual. She’d greeted Mason and gone back to her mixer. Ava looked at him again. His eyes were expressionless and his smile was forced. He’d removed his cowboy hat, his knuckles white as he gripped the brim.

She raised a brow at him. He wasn’t on her list of family members to babysit, but something was clearly up. Why wasn’t his ex-wife picking up on it?

Because she had enough on her mind.

She jerked her head toward the family room and he nodded. She led the way behind the sofa where Lucas and Jake were sitting and outside to the covered deck area. He closed the door behind them.

“What happened?” She folded her arms across her chest. Her thick sweater would be fine for a while in the chilly air, but not for a lengthy discussion.

Mason worked the brim of his hat, his gaze going past her to the landscaped yard. His lips pressed into a pale line. She wondered what he thought when he looked at the luxury home and grounds. Mason was a police detective. His salary couldn’t buy a home like this. Ava knew few people whose salary could. Did he feel like he’d failed Robin and Jake? Or was he happy for them?

She suspected it was both. From what she’d seen, he wanted his ex and Jake to be happy. He treated Lucas with a respect that seemed rare among divorced couples. Mason worked hard so the people around him could have better lives. Possibly to the point of ignoring his own well-being. Some people had it in their DNA.

“There’s some issues at work.”

“And?” She wasn’t going to let him off easy.

“Some stuff I need to deal with. But it won’t affect what’s going on here.”

Did he expect her to leave it at that? His shoulders were stiff, and he was still avoiding her gaze. He looked like he’d rather be anywhere but talking to her. Her gaze narrowed.

“Hold still.” She stepped closer, slowly holding out a hand. His gaze shot to hers, his eyes wide in alarm. “I’m just touching your coat,” she stated. She moved in slow motion, not wanting to startle him, and patted his jacket under his arm. An empty shoulder holster.

“They took your gun. Now tell me what the hell really happened.”

His story was crazy.

“How well did you know the victim?” Ava asked. Her mind sped through his tale, and she agreed with him. Someone was out to get him.

“She’d been a CI for two years. I probably met up with her a dozen times. I’d like to think she trusted me.”

“Prostitutes don’t trust anybody. A druggie probably trusts everyone. You think she was hooked on something the last time you saw her?”

“Something changed. She might have been a casual user to start with, but the dead woman I saw had the physical appearance of a die-hard addict—the weight loss, the facial sores, the teeth. I didn’t know things could change so fast.”

Pity for the dead woman was plain on his face. Ava could also see some self-blame going on for not recognizing Josie’s problem. “Nothing you could do.”

His gaze met hers; he didn’t believe her.

“Don’t tell me you think you can save the world. Haven’t you been on the job a little too long to believe that? I thought that mentality disappears within six months of being hired,” she joked.

He gave a small smile. “Gotta keep some faith. Otherwise, it gets to you.”

An optimist. He acted like a pessimist, but at heart he wanted to see the good in everything. Something she ached for, too.

Ava nodded.
Damn it. Why’d he have to be a cop?

She didn’t get involved with cops. She’d played that game before. It might take someone on the job to truly understand what she went through every day, but dating cops was a no-no. They thought with their dicks. Women loved the uniform and threw themselves at it. Talk about an ego booster. She’d dated one for eighteen months in LA. She’d heeded the warning not to get involved with a man in blue, but she thought she’d found the exception. She hadn’t. He’d cheated, twice.

First time, shame on him; second time, shame on her.

She put in for a transfer.

This guy is different.
She fought an urge to laugh.

“What? You find my attitude amusing?” Mason asked.

She snorted. “No. Thinking of something else. It’s good to know you’re still optimistic when your department thinks you kill prostitutes.”

“Ouch.” He thumped his hand on his chest, but his eyes wrinkled in a faint smile.

“I don’t think you’re a killer.”

“Good to know. And I return the sentiment.”

13

Ava gazed at her date in the romantic restaurant. The lighting was dim, the crowd was festive, and they had a sweeping nighttime view of the sparkling Willamette River from their table near the window. On the river walk outside, the second bench was in their line of sight, where an agent sat waiting with a black backpack.

Ava glanced at her watch. Nearly seven. The agent would walk away at seven, leaving the backpack tucked under the bench next to the legs. ASAC Ben Duncan sat across from her, his gaze glued to the agent, his phone at his ear. She tried to look calm, but felt hyperaware, as if she needed to memorize the movements of every diner in the restaurant and every passerby outside. Two other agents sat in the restaurant, taking up another prime table. The restaurant must have hated to lose it this last weekend before Christmas.

Tonight the Christmas Ships were out. Private yachts and sailboats paraded up and down the river, decked out in Christmas lights. Fans made reservations at restaurants with river views months in advance, the beautiful sight a Portland tradition. The ships paraded in December and sailed a few different routes, but tonight was a prime viewing evening for this seafood restaurant.

Walkers and shoppers strolled the twenty-foot-wide walkway in front of the restaurant. The concrete path continued north along the river and deeper into the city. On the west side of the walk stood the shops and restaurants; on the east side, the landscaped bank sloped gently down to the river and marina. Tiny white lights covered the trees that lined the walk. Die-hard diners sat at outdoor tables along the east side of the walk as waiters dashed between the outdoor tables and the restaurant. Huge propane heaters kept the diners warm. Supposedly. Ava saw a lot of scarves, bulky coats, and steaming drinks. She was thankful to be assigned indoors.

She knew teams were located at both ends of the walkway, and another team was down at the edge of the river in case their suspect had a water escape planned. Would their note writer come? Or were they sitting around waiting for nothing? She fought the urge to jump up and physically check the status of each team of agents. She could hear light chatter in her earpiece, but she felt blind. This was the hard part: waiting and trusting each person to do their job.

She was surprised the ransom note specified such a public drop. Granted, the writer may have believed the masses of people gave good cover. She took a sip of water and tried to slow her heart rate as she felt the minutes crawl by. Agents had been staking out the area since they’d received the note. The rest of the teams had arrived an hour ago. Ben hadn’t planned to include her, but she’d put her foot down. She was the eyes for the family, and the FBI needed every available set of hands. Or feet. Depending what the suspect decided to try.

The suspect could grab the cash and go north or south, assuming he didn’t head straight for the water. North offered a solid wall of shops and restaurants along one side of the walk. He’d have to go at least a hundred yards before he could leave the walkway. Heading south on the walk would offer him better options. Open streets, parking lots, and other freestanding buildings. Lots of nooks and crannies to lose someone in. Somewhere in that area were two cars with agents with a good sight line on the bench.

The bag held a small amount of money. Anyone who looked quickly would see stacks of hundreds. Anyone who took the time to dig through the money would find stacks of ones.

Ben reached across the table and took her hand, his gaze telling her to loosen up. She blinked and then relaxed. They were supposed to look like any other married couple out for a special dinner before Christmas, but she was probably putting out the vibes of someone who was ready to run a marathon. She’d layered a slinky top with a gold jacket and even worn flashy earrings and bracelets. The holiday look was compliments of Robin, who’d seemed to enjoy dressing her up. The bottom half of her outfit was her own. Sensible black slacks and black flats that worked for sprinting. She knew that because she’d put them to the test. Ben looked his usual business self in a jacket and button-down shirt.

He needed to put down his phone. Anyone watching them must feel sorry for her because her husband had been on his phone for their entire dinner. They both wore earpieces, but Ben had also made a half-dozen calls.

The agent at the bench gave the backpack a shove with his foot, tucking it farther under the bench. He stood, glanced around, straightened his jacket, and walked south. A young couple had sat on the bench with him for a solid ten minutes, cuddling and pointing at the water. Ava had breathed a sigh of relief when they’d left moments ago. The backpack seemed totally obvious to Ava, when in reality it probably went unobserved by most. The lighting in the area wasn’t the best; a casual passerby shouldn’t notice the bag. She squeezed Ben’s hand, and he gave a slow nod, ending his call.

Go time.

Minutes ticked by. Shoppers continued to stroll, people at the tables outdoors continued to eat and drink, and Ava sat straighter and straighter in her seat.

“Relax,” muttered Ben. “You look like you’re about to jump out of your chair.”

She forced her shoulders to slouch. A bit.

A busboy with a water pitcher filling glasses at an outdoor table did a double take at the backpack.

No. Leave it alone.

He glanced around the area and back to the pack. He filled glasses at the next table and then headed for the bench.

Damn it. A do-gooder.

He bent over and pulled out the pack, paused, and looked around again for the owner. He headed for the front door of the restaurant.

“Shit,” said Ben.

“An employee has picked up the backpack and is headed into the restaurant,” came through her earpiece.

Ava lost her view of the employee.

“Wait! He’s running for it!”

Ava and Ben leaped out of their chairs in unison with the other two agents in the restaurant and dashed for the front doors. Other diners looked up in surprise and jerked in their chairs as the agents thundered past.

They must think we’re dining and dashing.

She followed Ben, and out of the corner of her eye, she saw a ruckus outside the restaurant. They pushed through the heavy front doors in time to see a black figure running down to the river.

Yes!

He was going to run straight into the arms of their agents at the water. Shouts filled the air, and Ava felt adrenaline pump through her system. She followed Ben past the bench and down the rough slope. Ahead, she could tell two agents already had their man on the ground, an agent’s knee in the center of his back.

She slid to a stop, trying to get a look at the face of their kidnapper. He struggled on his stomach, fighting the two men who held him down. Both agents yelled at him to hold still, and she heard one ask where Henley was.

The man stilled, his head slumping to the ground.

Ben shoved at him with his toe. “Where’s Henley Fairbanks? If you’ve hurt that little girl, you’re a dead man.”

The man strained his neck to look up at Ben. His youthful appearance startled Ava.

“I don’t have her,” the teenager said.

Mason couldn’t believe it as he stared through the glass. A teenager sat slumped at the interview table.

He’s about the same age as Jake.

The FBI had taken the boy to the closest holding facility, the downtown Portland Police Department’s building. The teen had been processed and then handcuffed in an interview room, where he’d had a pleasant conversation with Special Agent Wells.

Ava had called Mason immediately. “A nineteen-year-old grabbed the backpack and ran. He says he’s not a kidnapper and that he was just trying to make a buck.”

“Did he leave the note?” Mason had asked.

“Yes. He claims he didn’t think anything would come of it, but he decided to give it a try.”

Mason had relayed this information to the family. The other three adults had just stared at him.

“He’s not the kidnapper? He doesn’t know anything about Henley?” Lilian had whispered. Lucas made her sit down. She appeared dizzy and unstable on her feet and seemed to crumple in on herself when she heard the news.

“We’re right back where we were,” Lucas said slowly. “All this time focusing on the ransom note, and it wasn’t even real.” The man looked numb.

“The FBI has been pursuing leads other than this one,” Mason answered. “They said from the beginning there was something fishy about it. Even Ava questioned why the note was left in such a public place, where it was bound to fall into the FBI’s scientific hands.”

“A stupid kid,” muttered Robin. “Yanking us around. Like we haven’t been through enough.”

Mason had left them to lick their fresh wounds and driven downtown, thankful the kid hadn’t been taken to OSP, where Mason might cross paths with some of his coworkers.

He wasn’t ready to face anyone yet.

Ava joined him at the window. “He’s just a kid, but I still want to slap him silly.”

“Slap him silly is too kind.”

“He has no idea the stress he’s put us and the family through,” replied Ava. Her hands were shoved in her slacks like she didn’t trust herself to be near the teen without popping him. Mason studied her out of the corner of his eye. The agent had fiercely aligned herself with the family. It was bound to happen, considering the close quarters they were living in and the turmoil she was witnessing. No one could be around Henley’s parents without their own heart breaking at the sight of their pain.

“You’ve adopted them,” Mason commented.

She turned to him, her eyebrows raised. “You’re surprised? What did you expect from me? I’m human.”

“I don’t know. More removed, I guess,” he answered lamely. Her blue eyes seemed to bore through him, and he realized she was wearing heavy eye makeup instead of her usual light look. And her hair was down and curled softly around her face.

“You look nice,” he said.

She dropped her gaze and picked at her gold jacket, staring at the fabric like she didn’t recognize it. “Robin dressed me up to look like I was out on a holiday date.” He immediately felt awkward for commenting on her appearance.

“I didn’t mean that you don’t usually look nice.” Mason fumbled for words. “Your hair looks different . . . in a good way . . . Not that it doesn’t usually look good . . . I guess you just look different. But a good different.”

Her eyes crinkled. “Wow, detective. You’ve got some smooth lines there. I bet Jake could give you some pointers.”

He wanted the floor to swallow him up. “I didn’t mean it . . . I mean, I shouldn’t have said you looked nice. Oh, fuck it.”

She laughed.

He watched her, abruptly blown away at the beauty of her face as she let go of her stress for a few seconds. “You should laugh more.”

“I could say the same to you.”

“I haven’t felt like laughing for a few days.”

“Amen,” she said. Her eyes were serious again, but there was a relaxed air about her that hadn’t been there before. He felt it flow over him, soothing him. “This has been a horrible few days, but that doesn’t mean we can’t still enjoy bits and pieces of life when the funny times strike. We don’t need to walk around in total despair. That’ll kill a person after a while.”

“You’re like the cop whisperer or something,” he said. “You see the good in the shittiest situations. They should put you on
Oprah
. Or
Dr. Phil
.”

She smiled at him, holding his gaze. “Now that was a real compliment. Thank you, detective.”

“I can see why Duncan picked you to stay with the family.”

“Well, that’s good, because most of the time I don’t have the foggiest idea what I’m doing. I don’t have the psychology background that our victim specialist does, but I guess the people I work with see something in me that I don’t.”

“You seem to know what to say.”

“That comes from years of trying to calm my sister. I told you she was a little off. She liked nothing better than to stir up drama. I spent a lot of time counterbalancing that. I strove to be rational while she went off the deep end. I guess I have a knack for calming people around me and seeing the good side in everything.”

Something flashed in her eyes.

“You still balancing her out?” Mason asked.

“Now I try to simply avoid her. Makes my life easier. You know how sometimes being in the same room with certain people exhausts you? She is my kryptonite. She tears away my strength. To survive, I stay away.”

“Where does she live?”

“She lives in Portland.”

“That doesn’t sound like you’re staying away.”

“After five years in LA, I thought I was strong enough to deal with her. Part of me misses her like I’d miss my right arm. She’s my twin. When I’m not with her, something doesn’t feel right in my soul. But when I’m with her, she destroys me. I had to choose what I could live with. I really thought she’d changed enough to let us coexist in the same city. Instead, I found that nothing had changed; if anything she is worse. So now we communicate by text or email. The city is big enough that our paths don’t cross.”