Find You First

by Linwood Barclay

  “Don’t worry. We can get all these things done. How’s Chloe feel about the test?”

  “Not great, but she’ll go along with it. She has a somewhat fatalistic view of life. Maybe I did at that age, too. She says I can keep the results to myself. She doesn’t want to know. I don’t know why, but I need to know.”

  “I’ve got the lab that did the test of Gilbert primed and ready to go,” Dorian said. “I make the call, someone’s here right away to retrieve the sample. We’ll pay through the nose, but what do you care, right?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Then they should be able to tell us something before the end of the day. I’ve seen it done. Worst case, tomorrow.”

  “And we need to set up another meeting with Heather. I don’t exactly know what to do next, but she may have some ideas. I want to know more about the woman from the ReproGold Clinic.”

  “Sure.” Dorian pulled out a phone. “I’ll text her now. She’ll be up.”

  “Okay, your turn,” he said.

  “Hmm?”

  “You were already on your way here. What was so important that you couldn’t text me or tell me over the phone?”

  Dorian put the phone down and looked at Miles, grim-faced.

  “There’s another one,” she said.

  “What?”

  “I’ve got all the names on your list set up on Google Alerts. Anything anywhere pops up about them, I get a notification.”

  The color drained from Miles’s face. “Tell me.”

  “Dixon Hawley is missing.”

  Miles blinked. “Scottsdale.”

  Dorian nodded. “Didn’t show up yesterday morning at his place of work. An art gallery. When he didn’t show, they tried calling him. No luck. So they sent someone around to his place and there was no sign of him. He’s just … gone.”

  “This can’t be happening,” Miles said.

  “I’m still trying to get more details, but there was something funny on the release that was on the police department website.”

  “Which was?”

  “His apartment had been stripped clean. Every personal item gone. Clothes, bed linen, toiletries. More than what you’d take if you were hitting the road.”

  Miles wavered.

  “You okay?” Dorian asked.

  “I feel a bit … dizzy,” he said.

  Dorian rushed to his side and steered him onto a nearby stool at the kitchen island.

  “What’s happening?” Dorian asked. “Is this a symptom? Do I need to get a doctor?”

  “No, no,” he said quietly. “It’s not that …”

  “I know it’s a shock, this Hawley guy going missing, but it’s only been a day and—”

  “It’s the same.”

  “What?”

  “It’s the same as what happened at Todd’s place.”

  Miles told Dorian about the spotless condition of Todd’s trailer when he and Chloe arrived. Then he filled her in about someone hiding under the bed, and the woman in the van who’d hit the brakes, creating a diversion.

  “This is nuts,” Dorian said.

  Miles placed his palms firmly on the counter, as though getting his bearings. “These aren’t coincidences.” He fixed Dorian with a hard glare. “Who else could know?”

  “Know what?”

  “The names. You know. Heather knows. The doctor and his assistant know. Who else?”

  Dorian shrugged.

  “You haven’t told anyone?” Miles asked.

  “Of course not.”

  “Is there any way anyone could have gotten the names from you? Hacked your computer? Listened in on your calls?”

  “No. You know we do security sweeps all the time. Jesus, Miles, you think I’m some sort of mole or something?”

  “No, of course not,” he said. “I’m sorry. But somehow … somehow it’s gotten out.” He took a moment to think. “Get the test done on Chloe. Then organize a plane. I need to connect with those that are left. That’s Nina Allman, Colin Neaseman, Barbara Redmond, and Travis Roben. Four stops, four days. Like I’m Drake on tour.”

  “Yeah, like you’re Drake,” she snickered.

  “Can you do that?”

  “Yeah. I’ll take care of it.”

  Miles put his elbows on the counter and rested his face in his hands.

  “It’s going to be okay,” Dorian said. “We’ll get this sorted out.”

  They heard the padding of feet on the floor and turned to see Chloe walking into the kitchen wearing a white robe she would have found in her bathroom. She looked sleepy-eyed and her hair was a tangled mess.

  “Do I smell coffee?” she asked.

  Thirty-Nine

  Fort Wayne, IN

  Kendra Collins and Rhys Mills were still waiting for the right opportunity to deal with Travis Roben.

  When Travis wasn’t with the girl, he was at home with his parents, or on the road in his van, or at the comic shop. There hadn’t been a moment when they could get to him without being seen by others. They were facing the prospect of taking out more than one person in order to get the target.

  After observing Travis’s interactions with the girl in the bowling alley, Rhys believed some sort of sexual rendezvous was in the offing, but it hadn’t happened yet. They’d spent more of that day together, but hadn’t checked into a motel or gone back to her place, wherever that was, and Travis had gone back that evening to the house where he lived with his mother and father.

  Once it was dark, they attached a tracker to his van—a shitty old Chrysler job that was rusting around the wheel wells—so they wouldn’t have to sit on his house all night long. They checked in to a local motel, renting rooms side by side, confident that if Travis decided to head out on a midnight drive, they’d know about it. Kendra had an alert set up on her phone.

  So when there was a knock on Rhys’s door at one in the morning, he jumped out of bed, wearing nothing but a pair of boxers, and opened it to find Kendra standing there. He believed Travis had to be on the move, that an opportunity had presented itself.

  Such was not the case.

  Kendra placed her cold palm on him, entangling her fingers in the hairs on his chest, and pushed him back into the room until he was standing at the side of the bed, at which point she gave him a gentle shove. His butt dropped onto the mattress, placing him eye level with her breasts. Kendra placed her hands on his head and pulled him toward her.

  “We’re going to be unprofessional,” she said. “I’ve been on the road too long.”

  Rhys was willing to oblige. When they were finished, and Kendra had come three times, Rhys was expecting she’d spend the rest of the night with him. But she’d hopped off the bed, pulled on just enough clothes to get back to her room, and went for the door.

  “See you in the morning,” she said, and left.

  Several hours later, at a nearby diner, Rhys looked across the table at his partner and said, “About last—”

  She performed a mini karate chop over her mug of coffee. “Stop right there.”

  “All I was going to say is—”

  “You’re going to say fuck all, that’s what you’re going to say.” She leaned forward and whispered, “You ever find yourself just going along, and out of the blue, you think, ‘I’d kill for a hot dog.’ You know they’re not good for you, but suddenly you’re craving one, and you’ve got to have one, so you go to some hot dog stand and you get one, and you eat it, and it’s good, and you kind of hate yourself, but it’s over.”

  “I’m a hot dog,” Rhys said.

  “There you go.” She took a sip of her coffee.

  Rhys said, “Nothing on the phone?”

  Her cell rested on the table next to her plate of corned beef hash. “Nothing.”

  “Can’t see going into the house. Parents there. Too many variables.”

  Kendra slowly shook her head in frustration. “This one’s taking too long. I’m getting sick of this.”

  “You won’t feel that way when you get paid
.”

  “Something I’ve learned over the years is, doesn’t matter how much you’re getting, it won’t make you enjoy the work any more. It might make you tolerate it, but it doesn’t make you like it.”

  “Agreed. But—”

  Her phone dinged.

  “Hang on,” Kendra said, picking up the phone. “Our boy’s going for a drive.”

  Rhys threw a twenty on the table. Kendra was already headed for the door.

  Sandy had told Travis to pick her up in front of the Dunkin Donuts. And she was right where she said she’d be, looking pretty hot in a pair of jeans, some Ugg boots (how someone could wear these when it was not winter was a mystery to Travis, but what the hell), and a pullover top that fit her very snugly. He had made one stop along the way, at a CVS, which should have been a quick stop, but it took him a while to work up the nerve to go to the counter with his purchase.

  He swerved the van over to the curb, holding his foot on the brake instead of putting it into Park, and Sandy opened the door. She was carrying a bag and a cardboard tray with two drinks tucked into it. One, in a paper cup, looked like a coffee, but the other, in a clear plastic container, looked more like a milkshake, topped with whipped cream and chocolate drizzle.

  “I thought you might like one of these,” she said, dropping into the passenger seat. “And I got donuts.”

  Travis was still mentally pinching himself. A girl who wanted to have sex with him, and she brought donuts? Had he died? Was this heaven? And if it was, couldn’t he have been provided with a ride that was cooler than a rusted minivan?

  “Awesome,” he said.

  “Needless to say,” she said, holding up the drink topped with whipped cream, “this is yours. I just got a regular coffee.”

  She transferred the drinks to the van’s cup holders, then tossed the tray back to the middle row of seats where it found a home next to other discarded fast-food detritus, a baseball bat, some comic books in clear plastic sleeves, a pair of boots, and a snow brush that had been there since last winter. She pried back the opening on her coffee cup lid and took a sip.

  “Yikes, it’s hot,” she said.

  “Like you,” he said, instantly wishing he could recall the two words. Talk about lame-o.

  Sandy opened the top of the bag. “I got half a dozen. Chocolate dip, cream-filled, a—”

  “Surprise me.”

  She dug out a chocolate and handed it over, but he was checking his side mirror as he pulled out into traffic. Once he was moving, he took the donut and bit into it.

  “Mmmm,” he said.

  “So where’s this place?”

  “Not too far. It’s like, still within the city, but it’s kind of isolated? A whaddaya-call-it, an industrial park but the place went out of business. You can drive around back. And it’s right next to these woods, so it’s pretty private.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “Yeah, it’ll be good. I wish we could go to, like, an actual place. But my mom’s home all the time, and if we went to a motel or something then you have to use a credit card and all that. That’s why I used cash for the clothes. My mom looks at all my statements that come in the mail and I don’t want her asking a whole bunch of questions.”

  “Okay,” Sandy said. “And my place is no good because my landlord’s always snooping around, watching my every move.” She glanced again into the back seat, where she’d tossed the takeout tray. “So, it’s gonna be here?”

  “Is that a problem?”

  “You couldn’t have tidied?”

  “Sorry,” he said. “I can clear off the seat when we get there. And I brought a blanket, in the back.”

  Sandy looked skeptical, maybe even a little repulsed. “I guess,” she said. “Sorry if I got your motor running yesterday when I, you know, suggested this. Sorry yesterday didn’t work out.”

  “It’s okay,” he said. “I guess … I guess I was thinking you’d changed your mind.”

  “No,” she said quickly. “Nothing like that.” She paused, then asked, “Did you get the things?”

  He smiled, patted his pocket. “Sure did.”

  Fifteen minutes later, they were driving through an area of factories and warehouses. Travis turned the van into the lot of a building covered in pale blue metal siding, the windows all boarded over. A chain-link gate blocked the path to the rear of the structure. Travis stopped the van a foot ahead of the gate.

  “Not to worry,” he said, getting out of the van and leaving the door open as he went to the gate, unlooped some chain, and pushed it open. He got in behind the wheel and said, “Lock’s been gone for ages.”

  Once he had pulled past it, he jumped out again, swung the gate back to its original position, and got behind the wheel.

  He pointed ahead through the windshield. “Just back around here.”

  The location was as he had described it. The lot was deserted save for a couple of rusted shipping containers and general debris, and was bordered on two sides by a wooded area. There were no other homes or buildings within view.

  “See?” he said. “Private.”

  He got out of the van, went around to the back, opened the tailgate, and grabbed a folded pink blanket he’d tucked away there. He slid both side doors back on their tracks, cleared off everything that had been on the seat, then spread the blanket onto it. All this time, Sandy stayed in the passenger seat.

  Travis went to her door, opened it, and extended his arm gracefully, a regular hotel concierge showing her to her room.

  Sandy got out slowly, first putting her feet on the cracked pavement, taking half a step, and then getting into the middle seat. She shuffled over, leaving room for Travis to settle in next to her. They turned to face each other, and then Travis slipped his arms around her and planted his lips on hers.

  He eased his fingers under her top, just above the waist, feeling bare skin. Slowly, he started to move his hands upward.

  Suddenly, Sandy pushed him away.

  “What?” he said. “What is it?”

  “I can’t do this,” she said.

  “What do you mean? I thought—”

  “I’m not—I’m not ready.”

  “What did I do?” Travis asked. “Did I do something wrong?”

  “No, no, you didn’t,” she said, breaking away from him and sliding a few inches away, closer to the open door on the other side of the van. “I need—I need some space. I need to think about this. I mean, I like you, I do, but—”

  “Okay, okay,” Travis said. “Whatever you need.”

  She swung her legs out the door and slid out until her feet touched the pavement. She started walking.

  “Where are you going?” he said, scooting across the seat and getting out, dragging the pink blanket along with him.

  Sandy kept on walking, her back to him. Without turning, she said, “I need a minute, okay?”

  He watched her until she turned the corner of the building. He ran ahead, saw her headed for the gate.

  “Shit,” he said to himself. “What did I do?”

  “And there it is,” Rhys said. “Our opportunity.”

  They had tracked Travis’s van down to an abandoned warehouse in an industrial district. The entire area had fallen on hard times, as there were other abandoned businesses on either side of the warehouse. Kendra steered their rental into one of those lots. They got out and worked their way along a fence dividing one property from the other, and found a hiding spot behind a stack of empty wood cable reels that afforded them a partial view of the van.

  “She’s getting out,” Rhys whispered. “They’ve had an argument or something.”

  They held their position as the girl walked speedily along the side of the building, passing within a few feet of them as she headed toward the gate. She unhooked the chain, opened the gate a couple of feet, and slipped out without bothering to reclose it.

  Rhys tapped Kendra on the shoulder, pointed to a gap in the fence, and motioned for her to follow. They pried back
the chain-link, squeezed through without getting their clothes caught, and walked quietly toward the back of the building.

  When they rounded the corner, they found Travis sitting dejectedly on the side-door rocker panel. When he saw them walking his way, his eyes went wide as he leapt to his feet.

  “Hold it right there,” Kendra said.

  They each flashed their bogus badge as they closed the distance. Travis looked ready to wet his pants.

  “I’m not doing anything!” he said.

  “This is private property,” Rhys said, drawing his weapon. “What do you think you’re doing here?”

  “Nothing!” he said, seeing the gun and throwing his hands into the air. “Honest to God. I drove back here with my girlfriend and we kind of had a fight or something and she walked off and I only drove back here because it’s private and I’m not stealing anything.” He lowered one hand, waved it. “What would I take? There’s nothing here!”

  Rhys and Kendra had discussed earlier that in a spot like this, in back of a deserted warehouse, they might be able to get away with slightly less caution. They could shoot him, then go back to the rental for the body bag and other supplies. So what if some blood spilled onto the pavement? No one was ever going to know it happened here. They’d be taking the van elsewhere to burn it, along with the body. Or, if that didn’t work out, taking it to a wrecking yard and having it crushed.

  Still, Rhys was thinking, it might be better for the execution to happen around back of those cargo containers.

  “What’s your name?” he asked, even though he knew.

  “Travis!” he said, his voice squeaking. “Travis Roben.”

  “You been in trouble with the law before?” Kendra asked, glancing at Rhys, the corner of her mouth going up a fraction of inch, giving him a look that said I shouldn’t be enjoying this, but I am.

  “Never!” he said.

  “I need you to step over here,” he said, and motioned for Travis to walk toward the containers.

  “Okay, okay,” he said. “Can I put my hands down?”

  “I never asked you to put them up,” Rhys said. “But … no.”

  When they reached the rusted containers—two of them, one labeled MAERSK was stacked on another marked EVERGREEN—Rhys gave Travis a little shove, pushing him around to the other side.