Caballo Security Box Set

by Camilla Blake

  “You keep losing people, don’t you, sweetheart?” a voice that had clearly been electronically altered asked me. “Have you seen your husband this morning?”

  “What have you done?”

  “You’ll back off right now. You’ll stay in your fancy house with your fancy servants and you won’t join the search teams today. You’ll just wait for another phone call from me and you might see your husband again.”

  “Do you have my great-gran, too?”

  “She’s safe. No one’s going to hurt her; we need her. Don’t worry your little head about that.”

  “And Prescott?”

  “His safety depends on what your next move is. So, think it through very carefully, darlin’.”

  The call disconnected.

  I felt weak, my head spinning a little. I sat heavily on the edge of a porch chair, staring out into the garden that I had once enjoyed so immensely. What had I gotten Prescott into?

  I wasn’t to leave the house. They didn’t say I couldn’t make a phone call or two.

  Chapter 18

  Ox

  The diner was nearly empty, just a few working-class men nursing cups of coffee to sober up before going home to the wife. The waitress who brought me a menu was middle-aged, the kind who was probably only in her thirties but looked like she’d already lived twice as long as all that. I watched her refill coffee cups before returning to a crossword puzzle she’d been working on at a corner of the counter when I walked in. Bored and disinterested, she’d probably be happy to see the back of me.

  The clock above the pass-through read midnight. Much too late for the dinner crowd, too early for the bar hoppers—it was the middle of the week, but if growing up with an alcoholic had taught me anything it was that people didn’t much care what day it was when they needed a drink. Thinking about my mother only dampened my mood. I’d just got a call this morning, the maid threatening to quit because she’d come in—the fourth time this month—and found my mother passed out in the bushes in front of the house. She’d had to clean her up and put her to bed, something that wasn’t in her job description, as she was careful to remind me. If I didn’t do something, I was going to be looking for a new maid very soon. Her threat, not mine.

  Family drama. Sometimes it could be a real bitch.

  “Decide what you want?”

  “Just coffee and a Danish, please.”

  The waitress nodded, trotting off like it didn’t matter one whit to her what I decided to eat. I watched her go, my attention drawn to a missing-person poster taped to the wall beside the coffee machine.

  “They still looking for that woman?”

  “Yeah,” the waitress said, setting a clean mug in front of me before filling it to the brim with fresh coffee. “The search parties meet here every morning and head out, but no luck so far.”

  “How long she been gone?”

  “Two days now.”

  “She doesn’t look like a spring chicken. Can’t imagine it’ll be good news when they finally find her.”

  The waitress nodded, looking as though the weight of the world was on her shoulders. “It’s a shame, too. Nicest woman you’d ever know. Her husband—now, he was a piece of work, forcing people to work for less than minimum wage and all—but she’s a great lady. Always made sure the people of this town had everything they needed.”

  “You know her well?”

  “Sure. Aurora George is like the grandmother of everyone who grew up in this dinky little town. Place should have packed up and blown away when the quarry closed. But she kept us going, donating more money to the city than most of these fools pay in taxes every year.”

  “Sounds like a tragic loss.”

  “It is. If she’s truly gone, this town is lost.”

  The waitress walked away again, sauntering over to the microwave to retrieve my Danish. When she came back, setting it carefully in front of me, she asked, “What brings you to town, Mister?”

  “Just passing through.”

  “Well, I hope you’re not looking for a motel room. Closest thing we have to that is a bed and breakfast over on Walnut, but Sheila rolls up the welcome mat at ten. Normally, I’d suggest you knock on the door at the George place, but with Aurora gone and all, now probably isn’t a good time.”

  “I guess her family is pretty worried.”

  “She just has the great-granddaughter, Skylar.”

  The way the woman said Skylar’s name set off an alarm inside of me. There was something almost vulgar about it.

  “You don’t like her?”

  The woman shrugged. “There’s nothing to like or dislike. She’s a milquetoast of a girl who only shows her face around here when there’s something to be gained, like an opportunity to kiss her great-grandmother’s ass before she dies. She’s not one of us.”

  “You’re a tight-knit community?”

  “You can say that. We all look out for each other.”

  I took a sip from my coffee. The woman must have interpreted the act as a dismissal because she wandered off, back to her puzzle.

  I waited another fifteen minutes or so, picking at the overly sweet Danish that was surprisingly good, watching the people in this diner. No one really spoke; no one did much more than sip at their coffee or work on their puzzles. It was so quiet that it almost felt like a funeral, or the calm before a storm, than a busy diner. The place didn’t come alive until the door burst open and a pretty blonde walked in, swinging her hips like she owned the place.

  “Hey, Donna!” the woman called to the waitress.

  “You were supposed to be here an hour ago, Miranda! I can’t keep covering your shifts for you!”

  “Sorry. I had something I needed to do.” The blonde moved behind the counter and put on a bright-green apron, the same style the other waitress was wearing. “Doesn’t look too busy tonight.”

  “It’s not. Just the regulars, mostly.”

  They both shot a look at me. I pretended to be lost in thought as I stared down at my coffee cup.

  “I’m out of here,” Donna said, grabbing a large purse from under the counter. “Don’t forget to unlock the back door for Ted at six.”

  She was gone before the blonde could answer. The blonde didn’t seem to care, or even notice. She poured herself a soda from the fountain and then came to stand in front of me as if we were long-lost friends or something.

  “You’re new here. Where you from?”

  “Texas.”

  “Is that right? What part of Texas?”

  “San Antonio.”

  “Small world. We got us a little girl up at the big George house who’s from San Antonio. You wouldn’t know Skylar George, would you?”

  “I know a lot of girls named Skylar and a lot of guys named George. Not sure I know any one person with both names.”

  It was a lie that rolled easily off my tongue, easier than it should have. I almost felt guilty for saying it.

  The blonde leaned on her arms, her face inches from mine as she openly checked me out. “Expensive shirt,” she said, brushing her fingers along the edge of my collar. “You here on business?”

  “Nope. Just passing through.”

  “On your way to where?”

  “Do I have to show you my identification just to drink a cup of coffee?”

  “I’m only curious.”

  “Like I said, I’m just passing through.”

  “Are you staying the night?” She walked her fingers across the counter to touch my wrist. “A man like you, all alone in a strange town. I’m sure you could use a little company.”

  “I heard there wasn’t a place to stay here, so I’m moving on.”

  “If you tried hard enough, you could find a place to stay.”

  “Are you offering?”

  She tilted her head, trying to play coy. “If you’re looking.”

  I slid my coffee cup and Danish plate aside so that I could lean closer to her across the counter. “You give me faith in the kindness of my fellow h
uman beings.”

  “I do my best.”

  “I am curious about this search for the old lady. Have you been helping out with the search parties?”

  She rolled her eyes. “They’re all wasting their time.”

  “How’s that?”

  Her eyes moved slowly over my face. “You really think someone that ancient would survive in the woods this long? They’re just looking for a corpse.”

  “That’s a dark view.”

  She shrugged. “I walked with them the first day. But no one really thinks we’ll find her.”

  “What do you think happened?”

  Miranda sat back, adopting this thoughtful look on her face. “I think she finally pissed off the wrong person and he or she took her out somewhere where she’ll never be found and took care of her.”

  “Just like that? This old woman must be a piece of work.”

  “She owns this town. Without her, we’d all have the freedom to get out of this place, but most of us are stuck because we don’t make enough money. That’s how she keeps us here: she refuses to pay us enough to make ends meet, let alone save up enough to escape.” Miranda was clearly growing angry as she spoke. “Only the ones she thinks are worthy does she allow to leave. My brother was one of those. She gave him a scholarship to college and he never looked back. But me? My friends? We’re all stuck here.”

  “It seems like a nice place. It can’t be that bad.”

  “It’s a prison! Same people every day. The same routines. The same everything! Can you imagine working in this greasy, nasty diner every day for the rest of your life? I have to because that’s my fate!”

  “Then, tell me, are you involved in this woman’s disappearance?”

  She laughed. “I wish! I think it’s great the woman finally got what she deserves, but the thing is, I don’t think it’ll change anything. There’s a rumor going around that the old woman changed her will, leaving everything to the town. That just means that those fools downtown—the mayor and his cronies—will take over and they’re no better than her. In fact, she’s groomed them in her opinions and philosophies. So what difference will it make? None. I’m still stuck in this dead-end job for the rest of my life unless I meet some stranger who takes me away.”

  She leaned on the counter again, moving close to me. “You’re not rich, are you? A gorgeous rich man looking for a trophy wife?”

  “Sorry. I’ve got a wife already.”

  “Do you? I don’t see a ring.”

  I looked at my hand and the clear lack of any adornment. “My wife and I agreed that there was no reason for me to wear a ring, especially since I work with my hands. I make furniture, so it would be dangerous to wear a ring that could get caught up in the machines.”

  “Furniture, huh? Does that make money?”

  “Sometimes. Not a fortune, but we get by.”

  She pulled away, her eyes reflecting her loss of interest. “Well, good for you. I have to go refill some coffee mugs, if you’ll excuse me.”

  I watched her walk away, the shake gone from her hips, reflecting for a moment on the lack of ambition that was poisoning our society. If she’d really wanted to get out of this place, she probably could find a better way than marrying some stranger for his money. But she was so convinced her life was over before it began that she couldn’t see anything else. It was kind of sad.

  I dropped a hundred-dollar bill on the counter and walked out, sliding into the passenger seat of a waiting SUV.

  “It’s not her.”

  “You’re sure?” Akker asked.

  “Positive. Girl’s too defeated to come up with a plan to go to the grocery store, let alone manipulate and kidnap an old woman. I think she’s a waste of time.”

  Akker put the SUV into gear and pulled out of the lot. “Cheryl called. Her contacts have come up with a list of places where someone might have obtained the street drug given to Mrs. George. Apparently, there was a string of arrests in Seattle just last month that produced a large cache of the drug.”

  “We have any names?”

  “A few. James drove down to check them out. We might find our connection pretty soon.”

  “Good. Any other news?”

  Akker shook his head. “Not a word.”

  “How’s Skylar holding up?”

  “She got another call about forty minutes ago. They want her to call off the search parties for tomorrow.”

  “Won’t that look a little suspicious?”

  “She’s supposed to tell the crowd that she found a note from her great-gran that suggests the old woman traveled to Los Angeles on business. She was told to tell everyone the disappearance was a misunderstanding and that Mrs. George will be back by the first of next week.”

  “Will she?”

  “That’s what Skylar asked. She said they told her that if she did as she was told, it was true. But if she called the police or anyone else, and they caught wind of it, she’d never see her great-gran or Prescott again.”

  I nodded, drumming my fingers on the edge of the window as I worked that information over in my mind. Why would they hold the old woman hostage just to release her? Weren’t they concerned she would tell the cops exactly what happened? Or did they have something they knew would keep her quiet?

  “We have to be very careful about our investigation.”

  “As always.”

  We drove in silence for a few minutes, heading out of town. We’d set up our base of operations in a cabin owned by the George family about forty minutes from town, far enough away that no one in town would notice us, but close enough that we could move back and forth fairly quickly. No hotel, no hotel employees who could report on our actions.

  “Did you know about Skylar and Prescott?”

  I glanced at Akker. “I didn’t have a clue.”

  “Me neither. I mean, I knew he flirted with her a lot, but we all do, don’t we?”

  I nodded. The thing was, though, Skylar spent her days, sometimes twelve hours a day, right outside my office. I prided myself in being observant, but I’d missed the signs of whatever was going on with her. Was I that wrapped up in my own thing that I didn’t know my assistant was married to one of my operatives? I mean… when she called and told me Prescott was missing and that he’d been looking into her great-grandmother’s disappearance, I hadn’t even questioned the fact that she would call one of us up to help her. But when she dropped the bomb that they’d been married for almost two years?

  Was I really that distracted by my own problems?

  “They make a handsome couple.”

  “Yeah.”

  Was it odd, though, that I was a little disappointed? I’d never really seen Skylar as a romantic option, but there was a certain intimacy between us via the nature of our work relationship. I guess I just always assumed she’d be there if I ever needed her. For anything. It was a terribly selfish thought that I was ashamed of now. Skylar deserved all the happiness in the world. If Prescott didn’t give her that, he’d have a world of hurt waiting for him.

  “We’ll find him and bring him back to her, then we’ll all go home where we belong.”

  “Yeah.”

  But it wouldn’t be the same, would it?

  Chapter 19

  Prescott

  The room was dark.

  I tugged at the cold metal that wrapped around my wrist, testing the hold it had. It was handcuffs, the kind you can buy in a novelty store. But the metal was solid, not weak like a child’s play cuffs might be. There was no give, no slack in the circumference of it. I wasn’t pulling my hands out of these cuffs unless I broke my thumbs, and I wasn’t quite prepared to do that. Not yet.

  They had me sitting on the floor, no chair to manipulate, no mattress to soften the uncomfortable floor. It was wood, raw wood, like I was in an unfinished space. A renovation, maybe? I’d noticed a few buildings downtown that weren’t quite finished, but I didn’t think they’d taken me that far. The taser hadn’t knocked me out; it had just made
my muscles useless. I remembered falling, remembered my hands being restrained, remembered being picked up and placed on something that moved. A cart or something. And I remembered being placed in a vehicle. It got a little fuzzy after that. I think I hit my head or something, my consciousness going in and out a few times. And then I was moved into this room.

  I don’t think we went far. It seemed like we might still be on the George property.

  I tried not to think about Skylar, tried not to worry about what she would have thought when she’d realized I was gone. I didn’t want her to think I’d abandoned her, but I also didn’t want her to worry about me. I hoped she knew I was working to get back to her.

  I leaned back against the wall and pushed myself up to my feet. I didn’t know how long I’d been in here. I thought they might have injected me with something as soon as we arrived. One minute I was asking questions of the two people carrying me into the room; the next I was sitting alone on the floor. What had I missed? What had been going on while I was unconscious?

  How the hell did I get myself into this mess in the first place?

  I walked the length of the wall, placing my toe against my heel with each step to count how many feet long it was. About twelve. I turned at the corner and walked the same way down that wall. Eleven. Again… but after about six steps my toe hit something soft, something lying on the floor. I tested it with my toe, determining it was about six inches thick. A mattress?

  I moved around the obstacle, following it until I hit the far wall. Definitely a mattress. Why hadn’t they put me on it? Why sit me on the floor, opposite to the mattress if they’d put a mattress in here for… whatever purpose?

  Or was that mattress already being utilized?

  I knelt, crawling forward carefully, trying not to lose my balance. After a few awkward movements, I hit something. I leaned sideways, stretching my hands around to feel what the object was.

  A body.

  “Mrs. George?”

  There was a slight mumble, but nothing more.