Kincaid's Dangerous Game (The Taken Book 4)

by Kathleen Creighton

  Wade’s voice came back to him, sharp with suspicion. “Who was I just talking to?”

  Holt said, “Uh…” and glanced over at Billie.

  “You call me outta the blue, tell me to call you back, it’s important. So I do, and a woman answers the phone. You found her, didn’t you? Brooke told us you thought you might have. Tell me that wasn’t my baby sister I was just talking to.”

  “Uh…” said Holt again, but this time at least he had the presence of mind not to look at Billie. “Yeah…and I’ll tell you all about that later. Right now, though, we’ve got a bit of a situation. May have. I don’t suppose you have any friends in the Las Vegas Police Department?”

  “We?” Wade’s tone was instantly serious. “Is my sister in trouble with the law? Again? My God, Kincaid, is this another situation like Brooke’s?”

  “No, no—nothing like that. At least…I hope not. May need you to put in a good word for us, though. If you wouldn’t mind.”

  “Mind? Hell, I’ll do better than that. I’ve got some personal time coming. How ’bout I see you there in…say, what?” There was some muffled mumbling, and then, in the kind of quiet voice he’d probably use to calm distraught witnesses: “Tee’s already looking up flights. She says it’s important, and you know I don’t argue with her about things like that.”

  “Wade? If you wouldn’t mind, it might be a good idea to bring her along, too.”

  Wade gave a snort of laughter. “You think she’d let me leave her behind? She’s just reminded me we haven’t really had a honeymoon yet, plus she’s never been to Vegas. We’re on our way, my friend. You just hang in there—and in the meantime, you take good care of my baby sister, you hear me?”

  “I mean to,” Holt said softly, and disconnected. He looked over at Billie and found her watching him, and for once he couldn’t read her eyes. “What?” he said as he handed her the phone, more sharply than he meant.

  Her gaze didn’t waver. She took a quick little breath, hesitated another second, then said slowly, “I’ve just been remembering something. You told me one of my brothers is named Wade, and that he’s a cop in Portland, Oregon. Tell me the truth, Kincaid. Was I just talking to my brother?”

  “Yeah, you were.” And because he suddenly realized his own emotions were piling up behind the dam of his self-control, and he for sure didn’t want to deal with her family issues, he put the Mustang in Reverse and backed out of the parking space.

  “And he knows it was me?”

  “Yep.”

  “And he’s coming to help us? Just…like that?”

  “You’re his sister,” Holt said flatly, as the Mustang lurched out of the parking lot and back onto the street. “It’s what families do. Help each other when they need it. Get used to it.”

  She didn’t reply, and he drove for a good way in silence.

  It wasn’t until he was pulling into the parking lot at the police headquarters that it hit him. He gave a sharp bark of laughter, and Billie’s head jerked toward him.

  “I just thought of something,” he said, grinning and slowly shaking his head. “You’re not gonna believe this. This brother of yours. He’s a police detective, right?” She nodded in puzzled agreement. “And guess what, his last name is Callahan.”

  She still looked uncomprehending, so he added in exasperation, “You said it—Dirty Harry, remember?”

  She covered her eyes with one hand, laughing silently.

  Billie had been in police stations before. Those past experiences had not been pleasant, and so far this one wasn’t any better. She felt nervous and scared, for a lot of good reasons, but more than that, she felt angry. Betrayed. Those memories, those feelings…she thought she’d steered her life into a place where she’d never have to feel like that again. Yet, here she was. And she didn’t know who to be mad at. Who to blame.

  “I hate this,” she whispered to Holt, and it seemed so natural now to tell him how she felt, although she’d never done that with anyone else before. “The way they look at you. They make me feel like I’ve done something bad even when I know I haven’t.”

  “That just means you have a conscience.”

  He, at least, seemed unfazed by the fact that they’d been questioned, together and separately, for several hours. Meanwhile, Holt’s Mustang and cell phone had been gone over with all the diligence the LVPD forensics teams could muster, and their identity documents checked and rechecked. Billie had even volunteered a sample of her DNA to corroborate her claim that she was the missing girl’s biological mother. Which, as Holt had pointed out when she’d told him she was going to do it, could also work against her, since it would seem to give her a motive for kidnapping. Now they were together again, in a small, square room without windows, without much of anything in it except for a metal table and several hard chairs, and the single, unwavering eye of a video camera high in one corner.

  “Do you think they believe us?”

  “I think they’d like to.” He was sitting relaxed in his chair, arms folded on his chest, and his eyes, resting on her, were calm. “Problem is, we’re all they’ve got. And we’re so perfect for it. Biological mom hires private investigator to find child she gave up for adoption, they go to see the kid, and the next day she’s abducted? Doesn’t get any more perfect than that.” He smiled wryly. “Hell, I’m not even sure I believe us.”

  Her lips felt numb; she couldn’t make herself smile back. “But…they’ll check at the airport, won’t they? They’ll ask Tony. He’ll tell them he brought us back here last night.”

  “Yes,” Holt said gently, “and I’m sure they’ve already done that. Doesn’t mean we—you—couldn’t have hired somebody like Miley to kidnap your daughter.”

  She put a hand over her eyes and whispered, “Oh, God.” After a moment she took her hand away and glared up at the video camera. “They’re probably listening to us right now, aren’t they?”

  “Probably.”

  “They know I have a rap sheet, I guess….” Her stomach felt raw and sore, and there was a sick, sour taste in her mouth. “From when…I was on the street.” Yes…all the miserable, stupid things I did then, to stay alive. Panhandling, shoplifting, trespassing…but at least—She blurted it out. “I want you to know, I never did drugs. And I never turned tricks.”

  He sat up suddenly. Felt as if she’d slapped him. “My God—Billie…”

  “You believe me, don’t you?” She stared at him with hot, dry eyes.

  The air between them was like a solid thing. He wanted to reach through it to touch her, but it seemed impenetrable. He said huskily, “I believe you. But it wouldn’t matter to me if you had. I’d never judge you.”

  “Yeah, you would. And it would matter. You might not think so, but it would. You know why I didn’t?” Her gaze didn’t waver, just seemed to grow hotter and brighter—and at the same time more distant. Like stars. “I didn’t because I figured if I was going to do that I might as well go back home. At least there I’d have food and a warm place to sleep.”

  What could he say? The effect of the words and that hot, hard gaze was enough to make him feel cold and shaky clear through to his insides. Staring back at her, he kept seeing all those battered young bodies he’d had to look at, in so many morgues, in so many cities, laid out cold and still with clean white sheets covering the evidence of how cruelly life had treated them. So many without names…All he could do was look at her and hope she’d understand his silence.

  After the longest ten seconds he’d ever lived through, she sat back and exhaled sharply.

  “Why are they still keeping us in here? They’ve asked us everything they possibly could. What are they waiting for?”

  He cleared his throat. “Well, I think—” And just then the door opened to admit the Las Vegas detective they’d spent so much time with earlier in the day. Right behind him were the two people Holt wanted most in the whole wide world to see. “I think—” he finished, grinning as he rose to his feet “—for this.”


  As he went to greet his visitors, he caught a glimpse of a face gone white as chalk, and he knew then that what scared Billie Farrell—or Brenna Fallon—more than the entire Las Vegas Police Department combined was this moment, and what was about to take place. Meeting this man—Wade Callahan.

  My brother.

  She had no recollection of having risen to her feet, but she must have. Now she stood with her hands on the tabletop to steady herself and watched them come into the stark little room.

  She saw him first—a tall man with broad shoulders and a slightly rumpled look, a face with a rock-solid jaw wearing a hint of beard shadow, close-cropped brown hair and heavily lashed eyes a deep, dark shade of blue. Right now those eyes were frowning and aimed straight at her, even while he was busy shaking Holt’s hand and clapping him on the arm. Then he pushed past everyone else in the room, and tables and chairs, too, and she was swallowed up in the biggest, strongest hug she’d ever known.

  Except, unbelievably, that big, strong body was shaking. She could feel the hard edge of his jaw pressed against her head, and her feet didn’t touch the floor as he whispered, “Hey, baby sister. Nice to finally meet you. I’m your brother Wade.”

  She didn’t dare speak. Didn’t dare laugh, or even draw breath. She was so fragile, her self-control so tenuous, one word…just one sound…would smash it to pieces.

  Then there was a sound, and she didn’t break after all. A soft, almost comical, “Ahem…”

  Wade released her with a shaken laugh. “Yeah…all right, I know. Sorry, Tee…” He turned to bring the other person, the woman, forward, although he kept Billie tucked in the curve of his arm. “Hey—I want you to meet my wife. This is Tierney. Tierney…this is my sister Bren—”

  “It’s Billie,” Holt said, from somewhere nearby.

  The woman was lovely, with tousled blond hair and clear, beautiful blue eyes, so different from her husband’s indigo, and worlds apart from Holt’s hot-cold steel. She had sun-kissed skin, a scattering of freckles and a warm and generous smile. Something about her made Billie think of flowers.

  “Hi, Billie,” the blond woman said softly, and held out her hands to take Billie’s. “Friends and family usually call me Tee.” Her hands felt warm…so warm, and Billie realized hers were like ice.

  “You read people’s emotions,” she said gruffly. “Holt told me.” She tried to smile. “Guess this must be pretty intense, huh?”

  Tierney’s smile blossomed. “Oh, don’t worry—I can block most people’s most of the time.” She gave Billie’s hands a reassuring squeeze. “Think how awful it would be if I didn’t.”

  But her eyes held Billie’s for a few moments longer, and…it was the oddest thing. She wasn’t psychic, she was sure of it—at least, she’d never even thought of such a thing before—but suddenly there was a voice inside her head, a voice that wasn’t really a voice at all, more of a feeling, impossible to describe. And in words that weren’t exactly words, but so clear it seemed as if they were words, it was saying, You’re not alone…we love you. No matter what happens, we’re here with you now.

  “So,” Holt said, “here’s what we want you to do.”

  They were in a small squad room now—Holt and Billie, Wade and Tierney, several members of the Las Vegas Police Department assigned to the kidnapping case, and a couple guys from the FBI. They were scattered among the several desks in the room, some peering at computer screens or talking quietly on telephones.

  Holt was sitting on the edge of a desk and Billie was standing in front of him, straight and stiff as a mannequin. He had his hands on her arms, but it wasn’t enough. He wanted her in his arms. Wanted to do whatever he needed to do to get that dazed, scared, brave, stoic, frozen look off her face.

  “You just need to buy us some time, okay?”

  He waited for her nod and a barely audible, “Yeah, sure.”

  “All you need to do is to show up for the tournament, hang in for as long as you can. Give us time to find where he’s holding her.”

  Her eyes looked flat and hopeless. “How can you? How can they? He could be…She could be anywhere.”

  He lowered his voice to a murmur and tipped his head toward the detectives poring over their computers in the room behind him. “These guys know their stuff, and they haven’t been sitting around on their asses. They have some leads—they’re working on those now.” She just looked at him, clearly unconvinced. He forced a smile. “Plus, you’ve got me. I find people, remember?”

  “Kincaid.” One of the LVPD detectives—Holt was pretty sure his name was Vogel—held up an arm and beckoned him over to the desk where he was hunched over an array of electronic equipment along with a tech guy and one of the FBI agents. “I think we’re ready here.”

  “Yeah…coming.” Holt slid his backside off the desk but kept one hand on Billie’s shoulder as he guided her over to where the three men were waiting. Her shoulder felt small-boned and defenseless, and he had to remind himself she was anything but.

  The techie was a slightly overweight guy with thinning red hair cut short and flat on top. He looked about nineteen. He handed Billie a phone, and Vogel said, “Okay, what I want you to do is call this guy Miley Todd back at the number he called you from. That’s this number right here.” He smoothed a piece of paper on the desk with one hand, and Holt recognized the note he’d scrawled before leaving Billie’s. “We know it’s a cell phone,” Vogel went on, “so we can’t trace it. But what we can do is try and ID the tower the signal’s coming from. Understand? That’ll narrow our search area. So we need you to keep him talking as long as you can. Can you do that?”

  She nodded, and Holt saw her throat move. He thought she looked scared to death.

  “Tell him you need proof he’s got Hannah,” he said, drawing her eyes to him, putting all the strength and confidence he could muster into the look he gave her. “Tell him you need to know she’s all right. Keep him on the line as long as possible.”

  She nodded again. The techie donned a pair of headphones and pointed to her. She took a breath, let it out and punched in the number. A moment later, everyone in the room could hear the brrr of the distant ring.

  Once. Twice. Three times. Holt was willing to bet nobody in the room took a breath. Then there was a click, and a voice, high and scared and one he’d heard before, said, “Yeah—who’s this?”

  “It’s me—Billie.” Holt couldn’t believe how calm she sounded. Angry, yeah, but definitely not scared.

  Miley, on the other hand, was freaking out. Holt wouldn’t have thought his voice could get any higher, but it must be hitting close to high C.

  “Billie? What the hell! How’d you get this number?”

  “Caller ID, you moron,” Billie replied, and several people in the room had to stifle laughter.

  “Hey, you better watch who you’re callin’ names, okay? I’m not kiddin’ around here. You better not be talking to the cops, either, you hear me? Billie? You hear me? No cops!”

  “Yeah—” she cleared her throat; her eyes were closed “—yes, all right. Just…calm down, okay? Look, I’m doing what you want, I’ll be in the damn tournament when it starts tomorrow. I just want—” her eyes flicked to Holt’s for one panic-stricken moment, then she caught a quick breath and rushed on “—I need to know she’s okay.”

  “I told you, I’m not gonna hurt her. That’s all you need to know.”

  “Yeah, but she’s probably scared to death. Let me talk to her, okay? Just let me tell her—”

  “Hey, I know what you’re doing.” His voice went up the scale again. “You’re trying to keep me talking so you can trace this call. You better not be tryin’ to trace this call, you hear me? Won’t do you any good anyway, ’cause the kid’s not here.”

  Billie’s fingers were gripping the phone so hard her knuckles were white. “Where—”

  “Yeah, right, like I’m gonna tell you? Somewhere safe, is all you need to know. Somewhere you won’t find her, neither, not without me. So you
just better not be talkin’ to the cops. Because if the cops do find me? If anything bad happens to me, you’re never gonna find her. You hear me, Billie? Nobody’s ever gonna see that little girl again.”

  Chapter 9

  T

  he weather turned warmer that evening. The wind had died down; the front, or whatever it was, had moved on east. This being the desert, the temperature had dropped with the coming of darkness, and Holt knew it would be chilly by morning, but for now it was pleasant enough that the tourists were out strolling the Strip in droves. Billie and Holt had had dinner with Wade and Tierney, who had flipped a coin to decide which of the touristy mega-hotel/casinos they should stay in for their first trip to Vegas, and belated honeymoon to boot. The Venetian had won the toss. Holt and Billie had left the newlyweds waiting for their turn at a gondola ride and had driven back to Billie’s in time to meet the police technician who’d be setting up a monitor on Billie’s landline.

  While Holt and the techie had their heads together over the electronics, Billie had wandered out onto the patio in the backyard. After seeing the techie—whose name was Riley—to his van and locking up the house, Holt found her there, sitting cross-legged on the deck beside the empty pool. She wasn’t wearing a jacket, just the long-sleeved pullover she’d put on that noon after getting the phone call from Miley. Her SWAT outfit, he thought, smiling to himself. And at the same time his heart felt curiously heavy.

  “Hey,” he said, and she looked up at him, smiling just a little, but not saying anything.

  “What are you doing out here in the dark?” he asked, although it wasn’t really dark, with the light from the kitchen pouring through the windows and a three-quarter moon bright overhead. He sat down beside her, not cross-legged—his joints were no longer comfortable with such extremes—but with his feet dangling over the side of the pool.

  She looked down at her linked hands. “Just…you know. Thinking about stuff.”

  “Yeah, well…I guess you’ve got a lot to think about.”