Gone

by Shirlee McCoy

  She didn’t care.

  And yet, she had the absurd urge to brush on some mascara, powder her nose and apply lipstick.

  The front door opened, and she could hear the men’s voices, Wren’s voice mixing with them. She was as ready as she’d ever be, so she opened the door and stepped into the hall.

  Sam was there.

  Just a few feet away.

  Thick blond hair. Bright blue eyes. A face that could have graced the cover of any magazine. But she’d never been swayed by looks. She’d never dreamed of marrying the best-looking guy in college or the most attractive man at church.

  The heart was what mattered.

  She’d known that before Jarrod.

  She still knew it.

  And Sam’s heart?

  It seemed as beautiful as dandelion seeds drifting in a sunlit meadow.

  “You’re awake,” he said, smiling in a way that made her heart jump and her knees go weak.

  “So are you.”

  “I guess we both have keen observational skills,” he deadpanned, and she laughed.

  She couldn’t stop herself.

  Sam smiled in response, his gaze dropping from her eyes to her mouth and back again.

  Her laughter died and her pulse jumped.

  She thought he knew it.

  He brushed a strand of hair from her cheek, his callused fingers rasping against her skin. “Don’t stop on my account,” he murmured.

  “Stop what?”

  “Laughing. They say it’s good for the soul.” His hand dropped away, and he stepped back. “There are coffee and doughnuts in the kitchen. Juice in the fridge.”

  “I’m fine.”

  “You might not feel that way in a couple of hours when your stomach is growling and Radley has eaten everything in the apartment.”

  “I thought we’d be in Ruby’s apartment soon. I bought eggs and milk and cheese a couple of days ago. We can bring them back here. If I’m hungry by then, I’ll make an omelet.”

  “We’re not going to be anywhere, Ella. You’ll be here. I’ll be at your cousin’s place,” he said.

  “When was this decided?” she demanded.

  “A few minutes ago.”

  “Why wasn’t I included in the discussion?”

  “Because you don’t work with the Special Crimes Unit. You’re a civilian. We have an obligation to keep you safe.”

  “I don’t see how I’d be any safer here with one FBI agent than I would be at Ruby’s with two,” she said.

  “She has a point,” Wren called from the living room, her voice crisp and precise.

  Sam scowled.

  “She’s right. I do,” Ella said, stepping past him and walking into the living room. Wren and Radley were both sitting on the couch, doughnuts in hand, coffee cups on the table in front of them. “What time are we leaving?”

  “Any time you’re ready,” Wren replied, taking a last bite of doughnut and standing up. She brushed a few crumbs from her pant leg and emerald-colored shirt. Then pulled on her jacket.

  “I’m ready,” she said.

  “Honor gave you the purse and keys?”

  “They’re here.” She held up the bag.

  Sam was right behind her. She could feel his presence like a physical touch, and she glanced over her shoulder.

  She wasn’t sure what she expected. Maybe a hint of censure in his eyes. Clenched fists. Tension in his jaw or mouth.

  She knew the subtle signs of anger.

  She’d seen them dozens of times when she was with Jarrod.

  Sam didn’t look angry. He didn’t even look frustrated. He looked relaxed, rested, ready for whatever the day brought.

  “We can grab your cousin’s journals while we’re there,” he said, conceding defeat without an argument. “Maybe there’s something in them that you missed. If you don’t mind, we can read through them, too. Several sets of eyes are better than one.”

  “Okay,” she said, pushing aside guilt and the sickening feeling that she was betraying Ruby. The only real betrayal would be in allowing her death to stay classified as a drug overdose.

  “She wouldn’t hold it against you,” he said quietly, and her throat went tight with tears that she didn’t want to shed. Not in front of Sam and his coworkers.

  “I know,” she managed to respond, turning away from his sympathy, because seeing it only made her feel more like crying.

  “Are you ready, Radley?” Wren asked, grabbing her coffee and taking a sip. “If Ella is going, you may as well come along, too.”

  “Way to make a guy feel needed,” Radley said, plucking a second doughnut from a box that sat on the kitchen counter and smiling in Ella’s direction.

  He had a nice smile.

  A nice face.

  Nice eyes.

  And, as far as she’d been able to tell in the short time since they’d met, he was a nice person.

  “Trust me, your skill set will definitely be needed today,” Wren responded, grabbing her phone from the coffee table and dropping it in her jacket pocket. “If we’re going, now is as good a time as any. We’ll go to Ruby’s place and then make a pit stop at the medical clinic.”

  Ella’s pulse jumped, and she found herself glancing at Sam, meeting his eyes. They weren’t nice. Not like Radley’s. They were beautiful, sharp, stunning. As clear a blue as she’d ever seen, rimmed with dark teal.

  “You didn’t mention the clinic when we discussed our plans this morning,” he said, his gaze never leaving Ella’s face.

  “I didn’t realize Radley would be with us,” Wren replied. “I want access to Ruby’s office and to the server room you’ve been working in. More than likely, anything important has already been removed, but I want to look. Even the most careful criminals make mistakes. It’s possible something was left behind that can be used to shut them down.”

  “We could ask for access,” Radley suggested, setting the box down and pulling out his wallet. “Or, we could get a search warrant. That is what most law enforcement officers would do.”

  “I’ve already put in the request for the search warrant, and it’ll be in my hands before we reach the clinic, but we’ve been down this road before. Places like this are notorious for losing keys and taking hours to find them,” Wren replied. “If that’s the way things play out, you can do what you do best and pick the locks.”

  “What I do best,” he commented, pulling several credit cards from his wallet and looking at each one, then sliding one in the back pocket of his jeans, “is hit a moving target at twelve-hundred yards, but if you need a lock picked, I’m your man.” He grabbed a coat from a closet near the door and put it on, then walked into the hall, Wren following close behind him.

  “Hit a moving target at twelve-hundred yards?” Ella repeated, running that through her mind—how far that was and how difficult it would be.

  “He was a marine sniper,” Sam offered, as he grabbed his coat, looked through the closet and took another. He held it up, eyeing it critically. “Is this a dark gray peacoat?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then it’s the one Honor told me to give you.” He handed it to her, waiting as she shrugged into it.

  When she finished, he straightened the collar, his knuckles brushing the side of her neck and the underside of her jaw. Just light quick touches. Not intentional. She knew that, but she felt them in the pit of her stomach and in the dark little spot in her heart that she’d closed off years ago. The one she’d once filled with love, hope and expectation.

  She moved away, her pulse thrumming rapidly. She wanted to call it fear. That would be the easy answer.

  But she knew it was something different—that first quick flutter of attraction, that deep longing to move closer, to look more intently. To study, learn and understand.

  To connect in a way tha
t wasn’t light, friendly and comfortable.

  She shoved the thought away.

  No way did she plan to forge a deep connection. Not with someone like Sam. He was cut from different cloth than other men she’d known. Not the standard dress-suit variety of fabric, he was faded flannel made of worsted yarn. Soft cotton. Scratchy wool. Raw silk and tightly knit alpaca.

  Natural.

  Unpretentious.

  Intriguing.

  And, if she allowed it, irresistible.

  She wouldn’t, because she was happy with her life, with her comfortable house and her quiet existence. She liked the silence of being alone, the ease of only having herself to answer to.

  She liked being safe from heartbreak and pain.

  And she liked Sam.

  The last thought popped in her head unbidden. Unwanted. Undeniable.

  “We’d better get out of here,” she murmured, avoiding his eyes as she darted for the door and out into the hallway.

  * * *

  The drive to Ruby’s place wasn’t silent.

  Most commutes weren’t when Sam was with team members.

  They spent the travel time discussing cases and working through strategies, because time was a commodity none of them liked to waste.

  Wren had handpicked every member of the unit, bringing in men and women who had skill sets she thought would be helpful in pursuing justice for the most vulnerable citizens. Children. Women. The elderly. They were the people the Special Crimes Unit served most frequently, the victims it had been created to help.

  The Special Crimes Unit took cold cases and new ones. They tracked down murderers, rapists, kidnappers and pedophiles. They tossed criminals in jail, comforted victims and spent every day trying to do more to make the world a safer place.

  A few months ago, the team had taken down the Night Stalker, a prolific serial killer who’d been targeting young ER nurses. The streets of New England were safer because of it, but Sam and his coworkers hadn’t spent much time celebrating the victory.

  Success always felt sweet.

  Failure was never an option.

  And predators were always waiting for a chance to pounce.

  Which meant the clock never stopped ticking, time never stopped mattering. An overlooked clue or unprocessed piece of evidence could mean a criminal remained free, so commutes were spent discussing case details and going over evidence. Once. Twice. Dozens of times.

  This commute wasn’t any different. Wren was explaining that Special Agent Adam Whitfield had arrived in town four hours ago. He’d gone to Bo’s house, but the informant and his family were gone. Adam had reached him by phone, and he’d said Bo had been cagey and nervous. He’d offered no new information regarding the way The Organization’s Newcastle cell operated, and he’d told Adam that as far as he was concerned, he was out of the entire mess.

  He refused to give his location, but when Adam asked if he’d known Ruby, Bo had been willing to answer. He and his wife had been in a drug rehabilitation class she’d taught. They’d both liked and respected her, and they’d both been shocked when they’d learned that she’d died of a drug overdose.

  As far as Bo knew, Ruby hadn’t been on The Organization’s payroll, but he’d told Adam that there were plenty of people walking around town who were probably secret members of the crime syndicate. If she’d been able to hide a drug addiction, Ruby could have hidden her affiliation with The Organization.

  Sam glanced at Ella as Wren made the pronouncement.

  She was staring out her window, silent and tense.

  “It’s an angle we needed to check into,” he said, and she nodded, her glossy ponytail sliding across her shoulders and falling straight to the middle of her narrow back.

  “I know.”

  “What are your thoughts, Ella?” Wren asked as she turned the corner onto a picturesque street—dark lampposts with old-fashioned streetlights, large trees still covered with colorful leaves. Large Victorian houses set in the middle of oversize yards.

  A Norman Rockwell painting waiting to happen.

  “Ruby didn’t lie. She didn’t cheat. She didn’t take advantage of people. She was honest to a fault, and I can’t imagine her ever agreeing to take part in any of the things The Organization does.”

  “Sometimes,” Sam said gently, “love doesn’t give us clear vision.”

  “And sometimes it does,” she replied, still staring out the window.

  “Turn left here,” she said as they rolled toward a four-way stop. “Ruby’s apartment is in the last house on the street. She had a great view of the river.”

  He could see that—the Damariscotta River sparkling in the watery sunlight, a few boats scattered along its surface.

  Wren pulled into the driveway of a three-story building that had been built in the early 1900s. It had been a house back then, the beautiful red maple in the front yard probably planted by the original owners.

  Now, the house had been portioned into apartments, the driveway widened to accommodate eight cars. It was empty now, a few leaves skittering across the cement as Wren parked.

  “Looks like the other renters are out,” Radley commented as he opened his door and stepped down.

  “The other four tenants are doctors or nurses who work at the clinic,” Ella offered. “They leave early and get home late. Ruby described them all in one of her journal entries. I guess they’re all single like she was. No spouses, significant others or kids. I’ve been in town for almost a week, and there’s never been anyone here during the day.”

  “Then if I find someone hanging around, I’ll know he or she doesn’t belong. Give me five minutes to check the perimeter.” Radley closed the door and disappeared around the side of the house.

  He’d been a sniper with the marines and served two tours in Iraq. He believed in caution and in quick action.

  Sam admired those traits.

  He possessed those traits.

  Everyone in the unit did.

  Wren stepped out of the car, and he knew she was studying the house across the street and the one next door, looking at the yards and the shrubbery, the places where someone might hide.

  She had her left hand in the pocket of her dark slacks, the fabric of her tailored coat pulling back to reveal a crisp white shirt and her shoulder holster. She looked like what she was—a professional, a federal officer, a woman who knew how to take charge and how to step back.

  “I feel redundant,” Ella said.

  “Once we’re in the apartment, you won’t,” he responded.

  “Maybe not. How much time can we spend there?”

  “Probably not as much as you’d like.”

  “I need a week’s worth of time. I’ve boxed a lot of Ruby’s things, but I still have the desk in her room to go through, and she had a lot of clothes. I should probably donate them.” The sadness in her voice was unmistakable, and he touched her arm, waited until she looked at him.

  “I’m sorry this is happening to you, Ella.”

  “Things could be worse,” she responded.

  “That doesn’t make it better.”

  “I guess it doesn’t,” she responded.

  She hadn’t slept well. That was obvious. She had dark circles under her eyes and deep hollows beneath her cheekbones, but her skin was smooth, her nose and cheeks dotted with freckles that made him think of hot summer days and long lazy summer nights.

  There was something about Ella that tugged at his heart in a way few things had. It wasn’t her vulnerability. It sure wasn’t the situation she found herself in. He’d worked with plenty of victims, spending time interviewing them, protecting them, reassuring them. None of them had made him wonder what it would be like to walk into their open arms at the end of a long day.

  Maybe it was just her. The straight approach she took to things. Her loyalty to
her cousin. Her willingness to leave everything she knew to find out the truth.

  He opened his door, taking Ella’s hand and tugging her across the seats and out his side of the vehicle.

  SEVEN

  The front door to the house was already open, Radley standing beside it, back to the building as he watched the street. He’d have noticed anything unusual and neutralized any threat, but Sam still headed for the house at a brisk jog, his hand wrapped around Ella’s.

  She kept up easily.

  Which was good. The less time they spent in the open, the happier Sam would be.

  It took seconds to reach the door and step across the threshold. Each one felt like a private invitation to a sniper’s bullet.

  He pulled Ella inside and far enough away from the door that she couldn’t be seen from the street.

  Or shot from it.

  “We made it,” Ella said as if she’d thought they wouldn’t.

  “Maybe a little too easily,” Wren replied, staring up a wide stairway centered in the middle of a huge foyer. “I’m trying not to let that worry me. This place is immense, by the way.”

  “It was the biggest building in town for a half a century. Built by a shipping magnate right around the end of the nineteenth century. He had sixteen kids, and he wanted each to have his or her own room. That wasn’t something done at the time, but it sure made it easy for the current owner to convert the place to apartments,” Ella said, pulling her keys out of her purse and heading up the stairs.

  “You know a lot about the property,” Wren commented, but Sam doubted her mind was on the conversation. As she’d said, the house was huge. Lots of doors. Lots of alcoves. Lots of places for someone to hide.

  “Ruby told me that story a dozen times. I think the idea of a family that big and a father who cared that much fascinated her. Her apartment is on the second floor,” Ella responded, the words a little rushed and a little breathless.

  She was nervous or scared, but she was trying not to show it—moving up the stairs quickly.

  She stopped on the second-floor landing, pointing up the stairs that led to the next floor. “The third level is being converted to a penthouse apartment. Ruby was thinking about making a rental offer on it once it was complete.”