Identify

by Denise Wells

  It works.

  “It’s not important,” she says. “I can use you tomorrow during lunch and we can go over a few more things, get you familiar with back of the house.”

  “Look at you, pulling out the restaurant lingo, luckily I know what that is.” I give her a hug and kiss her on the cheek. “Call me if you need anything.” I take a step back, but keep my hands on her shoulders, looking her in the eye so she knows I’m serious.

  “I will,” she says.

  “Okay. Love you!”

  “Love you.”

  I think about it on my way home and realize I’m excited about the prospect of working my way up at Daria’s bar. I know the servers make good money in tips, and since my other two jobs are barely there, I could use an income that is more regular than that. I do a little dog walking by day and on-call answering service support by night. Neither of which are consistent nor pay well.

  But the answering service almost pays my bills and dog walking keeps me in shape, so I can’t complain. Plus, I love dogs and my apartment doesn’t allow them. So, when I walk them, it’s almost like having one of my own. This isn’t at all where I thought my life would end up though. I was the president of the drama club throughout high school and really thought I’d be an actor after graduation. But I quickly realized I’d have to move to Los Angeles or New York if I wanted to take it seriously. And I have no desire to leave our little coastal town in the Pacific Northwest. It may be small, but it has everything I need.

  And love.

  (Read: Reed Roberts.)

  My phone alarm dings—it’s time for me to walk my neighbor’s dog. I head next door to Mrs. Sawyer’s house to walk Fifi; her poodle mix. Who hates going for walks and spends the entire time alternating between sitting and refusing to move, or biting the leash as we go.

  I spend the rest of the night watching how-to videos on the internet for being more badass. Believe it or not, there are videos and articles on badassery and how to achieve it. Though, none are as simple as I would have liked. It seems most badassery comprises being able to do something spectacular really well. Considering I have to hold the handrail when descending a staircase or I’ll fall, I’m guessing general badassedness is not in my wheelhouse.

  I remember watching old movies with Ginger Rogers and Fred Astaire when I was younger and being amazed that not only could they go down the stairs without holding onto the railing, but most times there was no railing and they’d be dancing as they went.

  I tried it once.

  I’ve been holding onto the handrail ever since. They are there for a reason—a damn good reason.

  When I tire of the internet, I spend the next hour selecting outfits for my fictitious date with Reed. This is not the first time I’ve entertained myself for an entire evening this way. I figure I’ll have a ton of options for consideration once it finally happens, thus taking the pressure off myself then to find something.

  There are times, like tonight, when I wish I had a pet, a roommate, or a spouse. It gets lonely being by myself, but I get a decent deal on my apartment—a studio style above a detached garage and the owners are a genuinely nice, middle-aged couple. It allows me to live in a nice neighborhood I could never afford otherwise. And there are a few neighbors with dogs needing walks, win-win.

  As I get ready for bed, I wish for the millionth time that Reed had social media accounts so I could go online and see what he’s doing or where he’s been. There is literally no way to cyber-stalk the man, it’s frustrating. But it gives me another reason to want to stalk him in person. And then I have to wonder about my sanity, since one, I’m so preoccupied with this guy. Two, I really want to stalk him online or in person, I don’t care which. Three, I can’t imagine either numbers one or two are healthy behaviors.

  I’d ask my therapist about it except I don’t go to therapy anymore. I’d ask Daria about it, but she’d probably give me some kind of blanket statement encouragement about him and me. That’s mostly because she doesn’t get it. Daria has never been on the unrequited end of love. Anytime that she’s wanted someone they’ve either wanted her first or wanted her back.

  She’s exquisitely beautiful, like for real—thick, dark hair, porcelain skin, and dark eyes. She doesn’t even need makeup. I look at her sometimes and wonder what it would be like to have that face looking back at me in a mirror. Not that I’m insecure. Much. If I didn’t love her dearly, I’d have to hate her. I mean, men fall for her all the time, especially guys that come into the bar. If Reed liked her, Daria and I would have to stop being friends. For real.

  I’d miss her though.

  Also for real.

  10

  Daria

  I’m almost afraid to let Mack know what information we got on David Tremblay. Partly because he will lose it when I do. I’m even keeled, mostly, and I almost lost it. One of my girls, Alyssa, and I did some digging, it didn’t take much to hit the jackpot. She hacked his email and found the idiot deleted stuff all the time, but never emptied the trash in his email, giving us a ton of information. Including email exchanges from a few of the fake profiles he used on the dating apps.

  I’m willing to bet if we cross-referenced some of these names with missing persons, we’d find multiple matches. This is the part I hate about working with Mack. When I find out information like this, that points to someone’s guilt, my first instinct is to kill. But I can’t do that when the FBI is on the case. I must play nice for Mack’s sake, for his career’s sake.

  As we wade through more of David’s crap, it’s clear he’s been coerced into luring, drugging, and handing off these girls. What we can’t find is what he doesn’t want exposed and why or who is holding it over his head. I wonder if it would make a difference to me either way. It doesn’t change the fact that’s he’s guilty with what he’s done, but it would help me understand his rationale better. I mean, this is a guy that my best friend dated.

  Of course, we find nothing to show where the girls are being held. If the email trail is any sign, he’s been doing this for over a year. In the beginning he used his real name, but then started changing it a few dates in. Still uses his real picture though. He must just be the luckiest guy in the world that they haven’t caught him yet. This plan of his is not foolproof by any means.

  What stops me though, forcing me to go back downstairs to my office just to keep my fury intact and let Alyssa give me a report later, is when we find that one of his first targets was Quinn. I look at emails from David where he references Quinn. Where he plans to meet her, what she looks like, the approximate time the drop off will be.

  Quinn’s original purpose was as a delivery and not a date. I think back to when they first met, trying to recall as many specifics as possible. But he just didn’t make that much of an impact on me. He’s one of those guys that looks like every other guy.

  I remember they didn’t date for a long time, a few months at the most, less than six for sure. Their very first date ended early with Quinn falling and spraining her ankle. She’s not exactly the epitome of grace. David took her to the emergency room. I believe she brought him to a BBQ some mutual friends were having for their second date, maybe? Or else I’ve got that reversed. This would have been back when Mack and I were still together. She was so excited at the prospect of double dating. What I don’t remember is why they stopped seeing one another.

  Shortly after Quinn, David met the woman he’s marrying. From the looks of it, she was never one of his targets. I only know who she is from the wedding announcement that turned up in our search. She’s from a very wealthy family, so it behooves him to marry her, instead of kidnapping her, if he’s going in for the long con. Who knows, maybe he loves her.

  Regardless, Quinn is like this brightness in my life I didn’t realize I needed until I had it, and I am so thankful for her. Where I’m dark, she’s light. When I’m half empty, she’s half full. Her chaos balances my compulsive organization. As Quinn would say, she’s the yin to my yang, and it works w
ell for us. It’s rare that women can meet as adults and become friends, but we did. We clicked from the very beginning—I’m not sure what I would have done had David been successful with his abduction plan.

  I need to run this all by Mack, he usually knows the best course of action. And is probably the only person who I will defer to, ever, and especially with something like this. I get too emotional and can’t remain objective in crimes against women, and definitely not with human trafficking. Which is why it’s easier to kill first and think about it later. The guilt that I carry over the loss of my sister is tremendous.

  She was my younger sister; it was my job to take care of her.

  I failed.

  I take a deep breath and grab my phone to text Mack.

  ME: Call me when you get a moment.

  MACK: Give me five.

  I set the phone down and mentally prepare what I want to say to him. I need to just deliver the information with no emotion or inflection. Tell him what I know, leave it at that, see if he wants/needs my help after that.

  The burner rings after three minutes.

  “Hey,” I say, sinking into my office chair and rubbing my forehead with the fingers of my free hand.

  “Whatcha got?”

  “David is the guy. And Quinn was one of his initial targets.”

  “Fuck.”

  “Yeah.”

  “You got anything I can legitimately use?”

  “No.”

  “You at the bar?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’ll be there in an hour.”

  He hangs up without saying goodbye. I know we can’t have extended conversations on the phone, someone could overhear or worse. But having to see him for the second time today will wreak havoc with my emotional well-being.

  I try to organize the information Alyssa has gathered to distract myself from seeing him. I’m not sure how he’ll be able to use any of this, if at all. Unfortunately, he must gather intel legitimately and legally. I find it ridiculous that criminals can use any means available in their wrongdoings. Yet law enforcement must abide by a code of ethics that is subjective depending upon how you interpret it. I suppose it’s more a lead by example kind of thing, they stay on the right side of the law to prosecute, because everyone should have been on that same side all along.

  Where I’m from in Russia, it's more primitive. An eye for an eye mentality is common as a means of retribution. You can obtain evidence in any way available to you. And it doesn’t even have to be hard or irrefutable. Getting used to a more civilized, American way of doing things, has been a change for me.

  When I’m finished going through what Alyssa has printed thus far, I make sure everything is under control out on the bar floor before Mack arrives. I want to devote my attention to him once he’s here and to how we plan to take care of the David Tremblay problem.

  I don’t consider myself to be girly by any means. Lipstick is my go-to for any kind of makeup at all, but I still make sure it’s touched up and pull my hair from its ponytail and fluff it to make sure it looks okay. It’s pathetic that I go to such lengths, minimal though they may be, for a man that I’ve denied myself to have. It’s like I know I still want him, so I want to make sure he still wants me, and the best way I know how to do that is to make sure I look good when I see him.

  I look up when I hear a knock on the door frame.

  Mack.

  “Hey,” he says.

  “Hey.”

  He settles himself into a chair opposite me. His large frame barely fitting into the armed chair—his size is one of my favorite things about him. I’m tall, five feet, eleven inches. It’s hard for a man to make me feel small and feminine when I want to. Mack doesn’t have that problem.

  I toss the file at him to avoid thinking about him any longer. I doubt it will work, but at least he won’t notice that I’m watching him if he’s looking at the file. He flips through it, skimming the pages.

  “Jesus, he’s guilty as fuck.”

  “Anything in there you can use?” I ask, even though I already know the answer.

  “Doubtful. Even if I wanted to use this as a basis for what to look for, we’d have to get a warrant for his house and his computer I don’t see that happening with where we are right now.” He glances at a few more pages. “God, Dar, I don’t even want to know how you get some of this stuff.”

  He’s right. He doesn’t.

  “What are you going to do?” I ask.

  “I wanted to know for my edification whether he was guilty. Problem is I can’t show this to Reed without explaining how I got it. But at least I’m not left wondering, and it gives me something to go on. Reed knows I think Tremblay is guilty, so if I push on this, it won’t seem too out of the ordinary.” He tosses the file onto my desk, loose papers from inside slide out like a fan. “I need a plan. I can bring him in on false charges, see what his alibi is like for that night, but the last victim didn’t ID him in the lineup.”

  “Oh shit, I’m sorry, Mack.”

  “Me too.” He sighs. “She picked the CGI.”

  “Oh, that’s bad.”

  He nods in response.

  “So, what happens in a situation like that?” I ask.

  “Technically, we drop it. But that’s the wrong action to take.” He gestures to the file on the desktop.

  “You’ve got to tell Reed something.”

  Mack leans back in his chair and scrubs his palms over his face, growling. “You know I can’t do that, babe. And you know why.” He looks at me pointedly. I know he thinks Reed would turn me in, but I feel like I see a different side of him, one that might understand what I do and why.

  Shit! I’m getting way too easy on people.

  Which just serves to remind me that living in America has made me fluffy on the inside. Especially if I think Reed would understand.

  I shake my head at myself.

  “What?” Mack asks.

  “I’m getting fluffy.”

  “Fluffy?”

  “Yes. On the inside.”

  “Not Dirty Daria?” He fakes a gasp and covers his mouth with his hand.

  I flip him off.

  “Any place, any time.” He pauses a moment. “And it’s soft. You’re getting soft on the inside. Fluffy is like cotton candy or a big pillow.”

  I grunt in response, then busy myself with gathering the file and loose pages from my desk. “What about using someone as bait?” I ask returning to the subject at hand.

  “We thought of that, it’s leaving too much to chance. He has an engagement party coming up, do you have any girls we could plant?”

  “To do what, exactly?”

  “I don’t know. I’m grasping at straws here. I need something to convince Reed.”

  “I can send a girl in, but I don’t know what good it would do. It’s not like he can hit on her at his engagement party. Or kidnap her even.”

  “I just need a confession. Maybe if he thinks he’s in danger, or we’re about to catch him?”

  “Okay, how can I help?” I ask. Because I want to help, assisting Mack makes me happy.

  “Reed’s already going to the party, he’s the best man. Maybe we could hook him up with a date?”

  “Wouldn’t he wonder why one of my bartenders was there?”

  “Probably. What about Quinn?”

  “What about her?”

  “It’s slightly more believable if she’s there, right?”

  “No way will she go to David’s engagement party. She’d feel too awkward. Especially on Christmas Eve. She likes to make popcorn and binge on all the holiday movies. I’m supposed to do it with her.”

  “What if she didn’t know that’s what she was doing?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “What if she thought she was going in as one of your Dirty Darlings, but really she’s the distraction so I can get Tremblay alone?”

  “I need more to go on than that.”

  “I don’t have it. This isn’t a fully
thought-out plan. I’m just trying to figure out how to appease Reed, get Tremblay alone, and get a confession.”

  “How are you getting in?”

  “I’ll be security.”

  “And then you just conveniently get a confession?”

  “It sounds flimsy when you put it like that.”

  “Because it is.” It’s rare I’ll go against Mack and his ideas, but I have a feeling this isn’t one of his good ones.

  “I think this can work. Help me flesh it out.”

  So, I put my doubts aside and concentrate on helping Mack turn this crazy idea into a plan.

  11

  Reed

  We hit a roadblock with the trafficking case once Paula Nelson selected the CGI photo out of the lineup. We didn’t tell her that’s who it was. But I can’t even describe how relieved I was when she didn’t ID David. How the fuck would I handle my best friend involved in something like this?

  Easy, I couldn’t.

  I wouldn’t.

  That was two days ago, and we are no closer to anything solid than we were then. Mack has been off doing his own thing, and I’m happy to let him. I know he thinks David is guilty, but we have no proof. I’m sure that’s what he’s trying to do, and I’ll be honest, a small part of me still worries that Mack is right. Because Paula not selecting David in the lineup does not automatically make him innocent. But as of this moment, I don’t have to worry about it.

  For now, all I have to worry about is making sure I’m in a celebratory mood for David’s engagement party tonight. I’m attending as his best man and knowing that he’s not guilty will allow me the freedom to enjoy the festivities with my friend. Though I’m sure he’ll be busy tending to party guests and won’t have time to hang just the two of us.

  Which makes me wish I knew his circle of friends better. Or at the very least, have a date for the evening so I would have someone to talk to all night. For the briefest of moments, I’d thought about asking Quinn to be my date. But then I figured she wouldn’t want to go to the engagement party of someone she used to date. That would be weird all the way around. And not how I want to remember our first date.