The Bait

by Carol Ericson

  Copycat Three choked. He hadn’t been expecting Jake to know he’d been the one who’d snatched Fiona.

  He recovered quickly. “I’ll let you know when I have my list of demands. My own rules.”

  “You mean instead of The Player’s rules. We know you’ve been taking orders from him. You all have. He’s not going to like this new development, is he? What rule did you break by kidnapping the daughter of the lead detective on your case? That must be rule numbers five, six, seven and eight.”

  “Shut up. I’m my own man. He just gave us some tips. I’m my own boss. I don’t answer to no one.”

  “What are your new rules, Mike? What do you want? We can work with you.”

  “Mike.” He snorted. “Who gave you that name? That bitch Barbi? You’d better tell that whore to watch her back. I’ll give you my rules when I’m good and ready.”

  Jake’s jaw formed a hard line. “How do I know you haven’t harmed her already?”

  A rustling noise came over the line and then Fiona’s voice. “Daddy? Daddy, I’m so sorry. I’m—”

  She didn’t get to finish her sentence. Mike returned. “There. She’s okay...for now.”

  Mike ended the call, and it was as if the people in the room who’d been holding their breaths, hanging on to every word, were released from a spell. Talking, movement, phone calls, keyboards—everything came to life at once.

  Including Kyra.

  She bolted from the room and jogged downstairs to Brandon’s small cube. He sat in command over the four computers on his desk, scooting his chair between the keyboards and monitors.

  “Brandon, did you hear?”

  “I heard.” His fingers raced across one keyboard, bringing lines of characters up on one screen. “I just wish I knew who Mike was on Websleuths. Jordy Cannon and Cyrus Fisher never bothered to mask their IP addresses. I doubt Mike did, either.”

  “There’s something else I want you to look at.” She wheeled a chair next to his. “Can you get into someone’s Instagram and their direct messages if I give you the address?”

  “Compared to this?” Brandon spread his hands, encompassing his computers cranking away and spewing out data. “Child’s play.”

  “The account is for a user called Jazzy Noir.” She held her breath as Brandon cleared one of his computers and launched Instagram.

  He brought up Fiona’s secret account, and Kyra scanned it for any new activity. Fiona had posted a few new pictures from LA, nothing too explicit or disturbing—she’d saved that for her private messages.

  “Is this it?”

  “Yes, can you get into the direct messages?”

  “I can if I’m logged in as Jazzy.” Brandon’s fingers froze. “Wait, is this J-Mac’s daughter?”

  “It is.” She put a finger to her lips. “He’s working on something else upstairs. Mike called him on a burner phone, and they’re working on tracking down the serial number of the phone and where it was purchased. I told Jake I was going to check Fiona’s Finsta. She thinks it’s a secret, but Jake has known about it for a while.”

  “Yeah, I remember those days. I used to have a secret Facebook account that my parents didn’t know about.” Brandon flushed under her side-eye and got to work.

  Lines of numbers and characters raced down the monitor until the display stopped. Brandon crowed, “Got it, baby.”

  He accessed the application again, bringing up the log-in page. He entered a username and password, and Jazzy Noir’s account opened in user mode.

  “Oh, my God. You are the man. I’m not even going to tell your mother about your secret accounts.” She pulled the keyboard toward her. “May I?”

  “It’s your party. I’ll go back to what I was doing before you came in. Let me know if you need any help. I can’t believe this guy has J-Mac’s daughter. She’s just a kid.”

  Kyra leaned in close to the monitor and clicked the message icon in the upper-right corner of the screen. A list of messages tumbled down the page, the little circles with profile pictures lining up with the names.

  She caught her breath when she saw most of the messages from an account featuring a suntanned blond in board shorts with the name of Surfernico. She’d hit the mother lode.

  Her heart pounded as she scanned through the messages. Nico/Mike had been filling Fiona’s head with everything a girl would want to hear and had roped her in easily. Kyra got to the last message exchanged where they discussed meeting up in LA, but there was nothing about meeting at The Grove. How had they communicated? Hopefully, when Jake got Fiona’s phone records, he would be able to see those texts or calls.

  Kyra flexed her fingers and took a deep breath. She entered her first message.

  Mike, this is Kyra Chase. If you want to make The Player happy, you’ll exchange Fiona for me.

  She knew enough about this platform to know Mike should be getting an email with a notification that he had a new direct message. She watched the cursor, biting her lip so hard she drew blood. When her phone buzzed, she jumped.

  She swept the blood from her lip with her tongue before she answered Jake’s call. “Any news?”

  “Not yet, but we’re doing everything we can. We have a lot of people talking to us about Mike, telling us who he hung out with at the club, maybe even a description of his car.”

  “Have you gotten Fiona’s phone records, yet?”

  “Working on it. Where are you?”

  “Getting some information from Brandon.”

  “Anything on Fiona’s fake Instagram account, yet?”

  Kyra shifted her gaze to Brandon and said, “Not yet. Let me know if you need me, okay? I love you.”

  Jake paused, taken aback.

  Not wanting to put him on the spot, she ended the call.

  She whispered to the screen. “C’mon, c’mon.”

  Ten minutes later, she got her wish. A reply came through on Fiona’s direct message. “Who are you?”

  She typed back furiously, telling him to check with The Player. Telling Mike that The Player wouldn’t be happy that he took a cop’s daughter, but he’d be very happy if Mike had Kyra Chase. She made a play for his emotions, suggesting that Fiona wasn’t even his type. He wouldn’t be punishing the woman he wanted to punish if he killed someone like Fiona.

  She held her breath. Had she gone too far?

  He made her wait almost twenty minutes, but the wait was worth it. A pulse danced in her throat as she read his message: I’ll take you.

  * * *

  JAKE HAD TWENTY things going on at once, but it helped him keep the panic at bay. They were drawing the net tighter around Mike, but he still hadn’t called Jake with any demands. Maybe Mike would wait on those demands until he felt he didn’t have a choice. The police still hadn’t come knocking on his door, so he had time.

  He checked the time. Copycat Three had kidnapped Fiona over six hours ago. What was he doing to his little girl? Jake squeezed his eyes closed and ground his back teeth together. He wanted just ten minutes alone with the guy.

  “Jake, Fiona’s phone records.” Billy shoved a sheaf of papers at him and clapped him on the shoulder. “It’s going to be okay, brother. We got you.”

  Nodding, Jake greedily snatched the papers from Billy’s hand and slammed them onto his desk. He pulled up his chair and ran a finger down the last of Fiona’s calls and texts. They included calls to Tess and him, Lyric and several texts that looked like they were to friends. He didn’t see anything out of the ordinary. How had she been communicating with him?

  Must be that fake Instagram account, but if Kyra had found something she would’ve let him know by now. He grabbed his phone and checked the time. He hadn’t heard from Kyra in almost two hours.

  Jake stuck Fiona’s phone records on Billy’s desk. “I’m going to check in on Brandon downstairs. I can’t see anything on here from Fi
ona’s phone that points to our guy, but maybe it needs some fresh eyes.”

  Billy said, “I’ve got it covered.”

  Jake jogged downstairs to the IT department and squeezed into Brandon’s cubicle. “Where’s Kyra?”

  “She’s, um—” Brandon shoved his glasses up the bridge of his nose “—not sure. She was on the computer for a while, said she had to take a phone call, stepped into the hallway for several minutes and then popped back in here to grab her purse and take off. I thought she was going back upstairs to see you and tell you about Fiona’s account.”

  “Fiona’s account?” Jake drew his eyebrows over his nose. “You got in?”

  “Yeah, it was easy. I nailed the username and password pretty quickly and handed them off to Kyra.”

  “Why the hell didn’t she tell me that?” Jake pulled out the chair next to Brandon and sat on the edge. “Can you get me into that account?”

  “Absolutely.” Brandon pulled the keyboard into his lap and accessed the application. Leaning over, he checked another computer monitor and then typed in the log-in information for Fiona’s Jazzy Noir account. “There you go.”

  When he placed the keyboard back on the desk in front of him, Jake started scrolling through the page, his eye twitching at the corner. “Brandon, how do I see direct messages on here?”

  “It’s that little airplane icon in the upper-right corner.”

  Jake moved the cursor over the icon, but before he could click on it, his personal phone rang. He glanced at the unknown caller and answered, “McAllister.”

  “Daddy? Daddy, I’m so sorry. Please come and get me.”

  Jake jumped up so fast the chair shot out from beneath him and hit the wall. “Where are you, Fiona?”

  “I—I’m not sure. I’m in an alley. He dumped me off in an alley, but he had me blindfolded.”

  “Are you...all right?”

  “I’m okay.” She sniffled. “He tied me up. He hit me, but I’m all right, Daddy. He’s gone now.”

  Rage throbbed against his temples. “Are you borrowing someone’s phone? Ask them where you are.”

  “Wait, I see two street signs. I’m at a corner, a busy corner.”

  “What are the street signs?” She couldn’t just ask the owner of the phone?

  “It’s Selma. Selma and Wilcox.”

  Relief swept through his body, and he took the first deep breath he’d had in hours. “Sweetie, you’re in Hollywood. You’re near Sunset. I’m going to send a squad car and an ambulance out to you right now, but I’m on my way. Where is he? Where’s... Nico?”

  Fiona sobbed. “His name wasn’t Nico, Daddy. He was an old man.”

  “I know that, sweetie. He took you to get back at me. Why’d he let you go?”

  “I—I thought you sent her.”

  A feather of fear brushed the back of his neck. “Sent who?”

  “Kyra. Kyra Chase. He let me go...and took her.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Kyra strained against the zip ties binding her wrists behind her. “She’s safe? You left her someplace safe?”

  The man in front of her, on the other side of the battered kitchen table, ran a hand through his messy brown hair and crossed his arms over his belly, which hung over the waistband of his jeans. “I dropped her off in an alley with her purse. I left her tied up, but not too tight. Just to give us some time to get away. When she gets loose, she can get to a phone. Glad to get rid of her. She was annoying.”

  Kyra flattened the smile from her lips. She could only imagine. Fiona had gotten from Monterey to LA by herself; she could figure out how to contact her father or hail down a cop car.

  “Who is she, Mike?”

  He scowled, his heavy brow hanging over his eyes. “What do you mean? Who is she?”

  “The woman with the long, brown hair you keep killing over and over.”

  He snorted. “You psychologists think you’re so smart. Not one of you could ever figure me out. Not one at that third-rate college I went to ever knew what I was capable of. Nobody did.”

  “Except The Player.”

  His head shot up, and fear raced through his dark eyes. He tilted his head from side to side, cracking his neck. “Not even he knew. Be careful, he said. Don’t engage law enforcement, he said. Don’t communicate, he said. I didn’t follow that stupid rule, and look where it got me? It got me you.”

  Kyra locked her jaw for a second to stop the chattering of her teeth. “You told The Player you had me?”

  “I did.” Mike slammed a fist against the table. “He was worried about that, even after I told him our deal.”

  Their deal consisted of Kyra staying on video call with him so he could see her leaving the station alone. Nobody would be able to track the phone to her location now because she’d tossed it, along with her purse and weapon, out the car window on the way to their meeting place.

  Mike had picked her up on a deserted street corner in Hollywood with Fiona in the car, and Kyra got a quick look at the girl, her face white beneath her blindfold, before he’d shoved Kyra into the car with her and blindfolded and zip-tied her, too. She’d been able to assure Fiona that everything was going to be okay.

  Mike had driven around for a while before parking and leading a sobbing Fiona away. Kyra had kept her ears tuned to any sounds of gunfire or violence, but hadn’t heard anything ominous.

  Fiona’d had no idea where Mike had taken and held her. Mike had turned off Fiona’s phone and dumped it. There was no way Jake could trace her back to this small house. The best she could hope for was that the police would locate her car, and maybe Mike’s car would show up on CCTV in the area.

  “Is he coming here? The Player?” She’d managed to utter his name through parched lips.

  “We haven’t figured it out yet.” Mike stared off into space, and a smile touched his lips. “Her name was Jenna.”

  “What was she to you?” Kyra straightened in her chair. The more she found out about Mike, the better chance she had of getting away alive.

  “College girlfriend, at least I wanted her to be. I played football in college, Division 3 school. I thought that would be enough to score points with her, but she always went for the pretty boys.”

  Kyra lowered her voice. “Did you hurt Jenna?”

  “She had to pay.” He rolled his big shoulders.

  “You killed her?”

  “No.” His eyes flashed. “She screamed and some guys from a frat house stopped me. Three on one, that’s the only way they could handle me. Kicked my ass and then got me kicked off the football team and out of the school.”

  “And you’ve been making her pay ever since.” Kyra swallowed. “What do you do with the...panties?”

  “I hide them here at home.” He puffed out his chest, which consisted of more flab than muscle. “That’s how far I got with Jenna. I got her panties off. Kept ’em, too. I shoved them into my pocket when those frat boys attacked me. Got away with them.”

  “What do you do with the severed fingers?”

  The corner of Mike’s mouth curled. “Those are for him.”

  A shaft of pain pierced her head. “What other rules does The Player have you follow?”

  Mike flattened his hands on the table and hunched forward. “What do you know about the rules?”

  “The police know more than you think, more than they let on.”

  He tucked a clump of hair behind his ear and fell back into a chair. “Just the regular stuff. He’s not that brilliant. No fingerprints. No DNA—that’s why we don’t rape them. And then this stupid rule about not taunting law enforcement. What’s the point if you can’t lord it over them? Lord it over him.”

  “Jake McAllister?”

  “Yeah, him. I bet he played quarterback on his football team. Didn’t he?”

  “I don’t think Jake play
ed football. He played water polo. He was a goalie because of his height.”

  “Water polo?” Mike giggled, an uncomfortable sound coming from a big man. “That’s not a man’s sport.”

  “So, maybe McAllister isn’t as perfect as you think.”

  Mike hit the table with his fist, and she jumped. “I don’t think he’s perfect.”

  “Did you kill Sean Hughes?”

  “Me?” His eyes rounded. “I didn’t kill him, but I know who did.”

  “The Player.” Kyra used her legs to scoot her chair forward. “Who is he, Mike?”

  Mike bared his teeth when he smiled, which, when coupled with his shaggy hair, gave him a feral appearance. “I guess you’re gonna find that out real soon.”

  * * *

  ON HIS WAY to meet Fiona, Jake tried Kyra’s phone over and over. Just like Fiona’s phone before, Kyra’s was dead. He’d put in an order to ping Kyra’s phone so they could at least get her last location.

  How could Kyra have done something so stupid? Why would she trade herself for Fiona? He could’ve met Mike’s demands to get Fiona back, but The Player would have no demands for Kyra’s safe return. Jake knew that was the only possible reason Mike would give up Fiona for Kyra—to placate The Player. Kyra had known it, too.

  With his heart pounding, Jake pulled up behind the ambulance and jumped out of the car. Fiona hopped off the back of the vehicle and ran into his arms, the silver blanket from the EMTs crunching around her. She sobbed against his chest, and he crushed her like he never wanted to let her go.

  “I’m so sorry, Daddy. I didn’t know. I never meant for this to happen.”

  He patted her back. “I know. It’s okay. I’m just so happy to have you back and safe. I already called your mother from the car to let her know you were okay. You are, aren’t you?”

  She pulled away and touched her swollen jaw. “I’m okay. He didn’t, you know, do anything to me, but he hit me a few times because I told him what an idiot he was and how he was so much uglier than the picture he used.”

  Jake’s mouth twitched. “Not a great idea to goad a serial killer. D-did you see Kyra?”