Vanished (Private Justice Book #1): A Novel (16 page)

In the meantime, she had a surveillance gig with Cal to look forward to.

A smile played at the corners of her mouth as she flipped on her turn signal. Funny. She had a feeling that of all the dates she’d ever gone on, the evening she’d spent sorting through trash with Cal and the hours she’d spend sitting in a car with him on Sunday doing nothing would end up ranking among the most memorable.

And someday, if all went well, she’d tell him that.

A
s Cal fired the last round in his magazine and lowered his compact Sig Sauer, someone tapped his shoulder.

He turned. Dev, also sporting ear protection and safety glasses, checked out the paper target positioned at fifteen meters, gave a thumbs-up, then inclined his head toward the exit.

After slipping the pistol into the concealed holster on his belt, Cal retrieved his target, picked up the case holding his full-sized Sig, and followed his partner toward the door, dumping the target in a trash bin as he passed. Dev must have found something interesting during his reconnaissance at Olivia’s duplex this morning if he’d bothered to track him down at the shooting range.

Once inside the small buffer room that separated the shooting area from the gun shop, Dev glanced over his shoulder to make certain the door had closed behind them, then pushed through the second door, into the shop.

Cal followed, sliding his ear protection to the back of his neck as he removed his safety glasses. “What’s up?”

Shucking his own safety equipment, Dev gestured toward a quieter corner in the store and led the way over to it. “I had an interesting morning. It seems your friend Olivia has, indeed, vanished.”

A spurt of adrenaline tripped Cal’s pulse up a notch. “What did you find?”

“A pile of mail on the floor under the slot in the front door. Moldy bread in the cupboard. Sour milk in the refrigerator, dated to expire three weeks ago. The oldest postmark I could find on the mail was April 14.”

“The day before Moira saw the woman on the road.”

“Uh huh. I also got this.” Dev fished a kraft-colored evidence envelope out of the inside pocket of his jacket. “The requested toothbrush.”

“Any problem with the landlord?”

“Nope. He was very impressed with my PI license. Not to mention my suave and professional demeanor.”

“Let’s not get carried away.” Cal shot him a wry look as he set his pistol case on an empty shelf. After pulling a pen out of his pocket, he initialed the envelope, adding date and time. “I’m going to run this and the tooth by the lab this afternoon.”

“I thought that might be your plan.” Dev reached into his pocket and withdrew another envelope. “I swung by the office and picked this up.”

“Thanks.” Cal took it, dating and initialing that envelope as well.

“I’ve got more for you too. Olivia paid her first month’s rent and deposit with a credit card. The landlord was kind enough to share the number and expiration date with me.”

“Seriously?” Cal slipped both envelopes into his pocket. That was an unexpected bonus.

“Hey . . . I told you I was smooth. Anyway, I checked out the number with one of our information brokers. The last charge was from a Walgreens on April 15.”

“I owe you for this.”

“I’ll add it to your tally.” He cocked his head back toward the range. “Let’s hope you don’t need to use your stellar shooting skills in Mexico.”

“I’m with you. We’re discussing strategy for the trip on Monday, right?”

“That’s the plan, as far as I know. Connor’s still gathering intel and connecting with the Mexican consulate, but he says he’ll have it together by then. Are you hanging around for a while?”

Cal checked his watch. “Nope. I was wrapping up when you got here. Thanks for making a special trip.”

“No problem. I need to get in a little practice myself before we head south of the border. When you mentioned yesterday you were coming here, I decided to add some practice to my weekend agenda too.”

“Are you expecting trouble on the trip?”

“I hope not. But I’d rather be prepared. You need me to do anything else on the vanishing woman case? Maybe talk to your friend Moira? See if my stellar interrogation skills can ferret out any new information she might have forgotten about that rainy night?” Dev grinned and winked.

“Forget it.”

“Spoil sport.”

“Go practice your shooting.”

“I’d rather practice another skill.” He waggled his eyebrows.

“That’s why Moira is off-limits.”

“Getting proprietary, aren’t we?”

Cal pulled his ear protection off his neck and ignored that comment. “Listen, I need to borrow the Explorer tomorrow morning. For work reasons.”

“You’re avoiding the subject.”

“So are you. Let’s talk about the Explorer.”

“You know I hate the van.” Dev grimaced and huffed out a breath. “Good thing I don’t have any social activities planned for the day. At least I’ll have the Explorer tonight. My date thanks you.” He gave a mock bow. “So what are you doing tomorrow morning?”

“Surveillance on our humanitarian of the year. All day, in fact. I’m switching vehicles with Connor around noon so Blaine doesn’t get suspicious. If you want the Explorer back before Monday, set up a swap with him.”

“Nah. I’m just going to finish up some case notes tomorrow and veg. Better than surveillance, though. You’ll be bored out of your mind.”

“Maybe not.”

Crack investigator that he was, Dev homed right in on that comment. “What aren’t you telling me?”

“I plan to have some pleasant company.”

His partner appraised him. “You’re taking Moira along?”

“Why not? Like you said, it should be quiet—but it’s possible we might discover some worthwhile information.”

“And if you don’t, you’ll have spent the Sunday with a hot chick. I like that angle. It’s a win-win.”

Cal sent him a watch-your-step look. “It’s not an angle. And she’s not a chick.”

A few beats of silence ticked by as Dev appraised him. “Sorry. I’m sure she’s a very nice woman. She must be, to lure you out of your self-imposed social exile. And all kidding aside, I’m glad. It’s about time you rejoined the land of the living.” He slipped his safety glasses back on, his brief serious mood evaporating. “You want to swing by my place tomorrow morning and exchange vehicles? It may be a late party night, and I was planning to sleep in.”

“Sure. Thanks again for dealing with the landlord today.” He picked up his pistol case.

“Piece of cake. The guy was putty in my hands.” With a rakish thumbs-up, Dev strolled away and pushed back through the door to the range.

Exiting the building, Cal shook his head. Dev was a piece of work. But one thing you could count on—despite his flippant manner, he was a pro through and through: always prepared, cool under fire, excellent instincts. And in a dicey situation, he could go from Mr. Laidback to the Terminator in a heartbeat. If Cal hadn’t witnessed the warp-speed transformation on a number of occasions, he’d never have believed it.

Dev’s undercover ATF work, however, had changed him. The difference was subtle, one only close friends and family
would notice, but even when he kidded these days his eyes held a hint of sadness.

Cal hit the autolock button on his keychain, tossed his safety gear onto the passenger seat, and climbed in, setting the pistol case beside him. Whatever had happened to his carefree college buddy during his undercover stint had left scars deep enough to make him walk away from the career he’d aspired to for as long as they’d known each other.

Then again, they all had their secrets.

But it had felt good to share his with Moira.

Clicking his seat belt into position, Cal smiled as he backed out of the parking spot.

Dev was right. No matter what information they got tomorrow—or didn’t get—the day would still be worthwhile.

An hour later, as Cal double-checked the address for Wayne Garrison against the seedy four-family flat in south city, it was clear that despite the less-than-optimal condition of Olivia’s duplex, she’d moved up in the world when she’d left this place. Tape was holding the broken glass in place on a second floor window, the front door hung open, and the edges of two of the concrete steps that led to the sagging porch had crumbled.

Places like this were one of the reasons he’d never stopped carrying a gun.

He slipped it out of the concealed holster and into his pocket. Then he slid out of the van, locked it, and started toward the front door, skirting pieces of broken pavement in the sidewalk.

A set of wooden stairs inside led him up to 2-A, past one unit emitting rock music and another in which voices were raised in argument. A crumpled fast-food bag had been tossed in a far corner, and the distinctive skunky scent of marijuana hung in the air.

At Garrison’s apartment, he stopped outside the door and listened.

Music was playing in there too—tuned to a more reasonable level—but he could also distinguish male and female voices.

Excellent. Garrison was home.

After one more sweep of the hall, he knocked.

The voices inside went silent.

A few seconds later the door cracked open, and Cal gave the man who answered a swift scan. Early twenties, sporting several days’ growth of stubble and unkempt longish hair, he wore worn jeans and a dirty T-shirt with a picture of Mickey Mouse on the front. His feet were bare.

On the plus side, his eyes were clear—if suspicious. It was a lot easier to get answers from people who weren’t high.

“Yeah? Whaddya want?”

Not the most cordial greeting he’d ever received.

“Wayne Garrison?”

“What’s it to you?”

“I’m trying to locate Olivia Lange.”

“She ain’t here.” He started to shut the door.

Cal stuck his foot in the jamb. “Do you have any idea where she might be?”

The man eyed his foot. “No.”

“When did you last see her?”

“Why do you want to know?”

“Was it the time you pounded on her door and she got the restraining order?”

Garrison glared at him. “Are you a cop?”

“Not anymore.” Cal pulled out his credentials and flashed them at the man. “I’m a private investigator.”

“Yeah?” Olivia’s former boyfriend squinted at the license. “Why are you looking for her?”

“Because she seems to be missing.”

“So who’s payin’ your bill? PIs don’t come cheap.” The man’s features hardened. “That doctor put you up to this?”

Cal maintained his placid expression despite the sudden surge in his pulse. “I’m not at liberty to disclose the name of my client.”

“I’ll bet it was him. Liv didn’t have any other friends.”

“Why would he pay us to find her?”

Garrison shrugged. “Maybe they had a thing going. She liked him okay, I guess. I didn’t. Wasn’t for him, we’d still be together.” His grip tightened on the door, whitening his knuckles. “Serve him right if she walked out, like she did on me.”

“Any idea where she’d go?”

“Don’t know, don’t care.” He started to shut the door again.

“You do realize, given your history with her, you might be a person of interest to the police if we don’t find her.” Cal removed his foot and played his ace, hoping it would win him a little cooperation.

The door stopped moving.

“I had nothing to do with her going missing.”

“You weren’t mad when she walked out? Revenge can be a strong motive.”

“Sure, I was mad at the beginning. That’s why I went over to her new place once. But I never went back again. Found me a new woman.” He leaned away from the door and looked back into the room. “Get over here, Roz.”

Cal waited, and a few seconds later a blonde moved into sight, cowering behind Garrison. He couldn’t see much, just a glimpse of a low-cut halter top, short-shorts—and what appeared to be the fading yellow of a bruise on the jaw of a girl too young to be involved with some deadbeat who got his kicks abusing women.

He swallowed past his revulsion. Reminded himself he wasn’t here to bust Garrison, just to get information.

“See. I don’t need Olivia no more.” The man jerked his head toward the girl. “Why don’t you check out that doctor dude who hired you? She might’ve liked him, but he also made her nervous.”

That could be a significant piece of news.

“Why was that?”

“Beats me. Had something to do with an old guy who died at the place she worked. She was real upset about it for weeks. I didn’t ask a lot of questions.”

“You know this doctor’s name?”

The man sneered. “As if you don’t.”

“I’d still like you to tell me.”

“Yeah? What’s it worth to you?”

Cal had seen that calculating, this-may-be-a-way-to-make-a-buck look before. And he wasn’t above paying off sources when necessary. In this case, though, it wasn’t.

Looking past the man, he spoke to the girl in the background. “How old are you, Roz?”

“Don’t answer that,” Garrison barked out.

“My guess is fifteen, sixteen. Underage.” Cal locked gazes with him. “Cops would be interested in that. I have a lot of buddies on the force.”

As the man considered him, a bead of sweat popped out on his temple. “Okay. Fine. His name started with a B. Bland, Blame . . . something like that.”

Close enough.

“Thanks.” Cal shifted sideways so he could see the hovering girl again. “You want my advice? Ditch this guy before he hurts more than your jaw.”

Garrison cursed and slammed the door in his face.

Watching his back all the way, Cal retreated to his van, grateful Garrison’s apartment wasn’t in the front of the building. If one of his windows faced the street, he wouldn’t put it past the guy to draw a bead on him.