Inside the restaurant, Dean led me to a room reserved for VIPA where we signed in, paid a dinner fee (Dean insisted on covering mine), and donned nametags. I picked up a membership application and stuck it in my purse.
I couldn’t imagine anywhere I’d feel safer than in a room brimming with law-enforcement types, many of whom I guessed were packing. Most were retirement-age men, but a few women dotted the room, which was crammed with tables for six.
“I’ll let you pick where to sit,” I said to Dean, in case he had favorite tablemates.
He chose a table near the podium with two unoccupied, front-and-center seats. They reminded me of empty front pews at Aunt Liz’s church.
“How’s this?”
“Good.” We were surrounded by a group of gregarious men laughing.
“Hi,” one of them welcomed us. “Sit down.”
If Dean was going to pull out my chair, I didn’t give him a chance. I sat and slid my purse under it, resting the cell-phone pocket against my foot, where hopefully I’d feel vibrations if it rang silently. Then I politely put a cloth napkin in my lap.
Almost immediately, a waiter appeared to take our orders.
“Chicken, salmon or vegetarian?” he asked.
“Vegetarian, please,” I said, curious what that would mean. Too often it was a pile of vegetables.
Dean ordered chicken and asked if I ate meat or fish.
“No.” I hoped that wouldn’t scare him off.
“Is it okay to eat meat in front of you? I don’t want to upset you.”
“Of course. It’s not like that,” I laughed.
“What’s it like?” He seemed genuinely curious.
“Well, I don’t eat meat, fish, or shellfish. I eat dairy sometimes, especially if it’s organic. But I don’t push my diet on anyone except my kids. They’re veggies too.”
We busied ourselves with pouring drinks, passing rolls, and dressing pre-dinner salads, which were already at each place. When I saw our meals on the way, I introduced myself to the man on my right, giving Dean a chance to eat in peace.
“I’m Julius Wagner,” the man said. “With Julius Security.”
I made small talk and listened to other guests discuss local security and terrorism issues.
“Nicki’s working on an interesting case,” Dean interjected. He’d already finished his meal, and I’d barely started the ravioli I’d been served. “George,” he nodded to a silver-haired, black man across the table. “You might be interested.” George raised his eyebrows, and all eyes were on me. “Want to tell them about it, Nicki?” Dean asked.
“What’s the situation?” George said in a gentle voice.
I cleared my throat and considered how to summarize the case without monopolizing the conversation.
“There’s a pregnant eighteen-year-old who’s missing,” I started.
“Did an email go out about her?” George asked. “King County?”
“Yes.”
“Is she a runaway?”
“That’s the big question,” I said. “Almost everyone, including her parents, thinks so. But there are a few holdouts. My closest friend is one of them, so I’m trying to help. Dean has been really supportive.” I gave him an appreciative look. “There have been sightings that suggest she might be with her grandparents in West Virginia. But I haven’t been able to confirm them yet.”
“When’s the baby due?”
I took a deep breath. “In a week.”
“Are you keeping an eye on the social networking sites?” George asked.
“Definitely.”
“Nothing helpful there?”
“Not that I’ve found lately. But I haven’t had time to research many of her friends.”
He reached into his pocket, pulled out a business card, and passed it around the table to me. “I’d be happy to talk with you about this,” he said. “Will you call me after tonight’s meeting? Maybe I can help.”
“Of course. Thank you so much.” I looked at the card. George Gray. President, NOVA Investigations. Specializing in missing persons. Then I looked at Dean, who was beaming.
A rush of prickly heat swept over my body. I had a feeling George didn’t just want to help. He would help. I tucked the card into my wallet for safekeeping.
While listening to the former hostage negotiator speak, I was hyperaware of Dean facing the podium, his hair brushing the neckline of his shirt, his sculpted arm resting on the table. Good thing I was sitting behind him. If things were the other way around, I’d be hyperaware of the back of my head, which I hadn’t checked in the mirror before leaving home.
When it was time for Q&A, I raised my hand. Most people had asked about police negotiation, but I wanted to know something else.
“What if you are a hostage?” I asked. “How can you keep yourself safe?”
“Try to connect personally with the hostage taker,” he suggested. “You might talk calmly about your family, for example. Humanize yourself.”
Logical advice, but even if I could share it with Beth, would it matter? The chances seemed high she was with someone she already knew.
After saying goodnight to everyone, Dean and I walked to his car.
“It’ll be worth it to call George tonight,” he said while opening my door. “I don’t know him well, but I know he’s passionate about his work.”
“Does he work missing children cases?” I asked.
“He did with the FBI.” He walked around to his side and slid in. “It’s lucky he was here.”
“I know. Everyone was so nice. Thanks for bringing me.”
“My pleasure.”
The Aston Martin purred to life. Each time Dean accelerated, I wished we were on open road, not in overcrowded suburbia. The car was like a restrained jungle cat. Other drivers craned for a look as we passed them.
“I can’t believe you drive this all the time. Aren’t you afraid it’ll get damaged?”
“Sure. But my Dad says—and I agree with him—it’s made to be enjoyed. Plus, it’s insured.”
“Weren’t you driving something else when you dropped off that book at my house?” I asked. “It wasn’t your motorcycle, was it?”
“It was a gray SUV,” he said. “Good for surveillance.”
He could have picked me up in that, I realized, and he hadn’t. It probably meant nothing, but a girl could dream.
“Let me walk you inside,” he offered as we pulled into my driveway. Ugh. I hadn’t had time to clean. There was no way I’d let him in.
“You don’t have to do that,” I said, wishing he could search the house for bad guys. I put my hand on the door handle and locked eyes with him. “Thanks again. I’m going to call George first thing.”
Instead of staying in the car, he stepped out and waited for me on his side, where my stomach did flips.
“Come on. I have to make sure you get inside okay,” he said.
As we walked up the brick path to the porch, I felt a light touch on my elbow. He was guiding me toward the door. Goosebumps rose up my back.
“So why don’t you email me after you talk with George?” he suggested after his arm dropped away. “I’m curious what he has to say.”
“Sure. I’d love to.” I fumbled to get the key in the lock. “And don’t worry about me. I’m sure Kenna will come over in a little bit. She had a meeting tonight too.” I opened the door a few inches and flicked on the porch light. Dean brushed his hand through his hair and shifted his weight. Either he was a little uneasy or he had to pee.
“Take care of yourself, Nicki,” he said. “Don’t be too brave.”
“Okay, but if the alternative is giving up,” I said, “I’m not doing that.” My eyes scanned the street. I didn’t like being out in the open, and if anyone even slightly
suspicious drove by, I might overreact and yank Dean inside.
“Don’t get me wrong,” he said. “Finding Beth is important. But it’s not worth your life. Or someone else’s.”
I wasn’t sure if he meant Jack or Sophie, but that’s who came to mind, and my stomach sank. I leaned on the doorjamb. “I think I know what you mean.” But I was too scared to ask.
After thanking him for dinner, I closed the door, reset the alarm, and listened to the Aston Martin back out with a growl. I was alone. The house was silent.
Instead of walking further inside, I turned the deadbolt, sat in front of the door, and called Kenna.
“Hey,” I said when she answered. “Where are you?”
“Picking up Chinese food. I’ll be home soon. Where are you?”
“Home. Hoping you’ll come over. I just got here.”
“Where were you?” she asked.
I decided to give her a thrill. “Out to dinner with Dean.”
“What? Oh my God. Hold on.” I heard her pay for the food. “I’d ask you if you want anything,” she said, “but you just went out with Dean!” There was rustling as she walked.
“It’s not what you think,” I said. “But I knew it would make you smile.”
“But you did have dinner with Dean?” she confirmed.
“I did.”
“Tell me everything.”
I made her wait until she got home.
“Don’t you want to eat with Andy?” I asked when she banged on my door.
“I eat with Andy every night,” she said. “This is more important.” I knew she was joking, but at times, our friendship annoyed him, just like it had Jason. Waiting for women to stop blabbing about apparently meaningless (but truly life changing!) stuff isn’t fun—especially when it prevents another activity, such as watching a movie, sleeping or—less frequently—having sex. Sometimes it was just impossible to hang up. There was always one more essential thing to say.
Kenna ate her beef-broccoli lo mein while I talked. Then I asked about the First Steps meeting.
“The agency thinks she ran away, and they’re clearly worried about her. But their job is to protect us from situations that don’t look good, and this is one of them. So they want to show our profile to other birth mothers. Andy wants to do it, but you know how I feel.”
“That must have been a hard conversation. Is Andy frustrated with you?”
“Not about that. But I did something that really pissed him off. I don’t know how you’re going to feel about it, either.”
“Uh oh. Tell me.”
“First you have to listen to a couple things.”
“I’m all ears.”
“Number one, the social worker, Diane, said it’s not unheard of, or even uncommon, for a birth mother to quote ‘disappear off the radar.’”
“What does that mean?”
“Like some birth mothers become homeless or get arrested and put in jail. The agency makes reasonable efforts to find them and make sure they’re safe, but people have the right to disappear.”
“Okay.”
“Number two, Diane had concerns about Beth before she disappeared. She still seemed to care a lot about Marcus, and there were some questions about her past.”
“What do you mean ‘her past’?”
“The agency asked for a copy of Beth’s birth certificate, but her parents wouldn’t hand it over because they didn’t support the adoption.”
“Uh huh.”
“So the agency helped her get one on her own. But when it arrived, Beth was confused by it.”
“Why?”
“Something about it didn’t match what Beth knew about herself. Diane didn’t think much of it until the police started asking questions.”
“What questions? And what didn’t match?”
“I don’t know. She didn’t want to go into detail. I can tell she’s just throwing out anything that will steer us in another direction. I mean, we don’t even have Marcus’s cooperation yet. From First Steps’ standpoint, the whole thing is kind of a mess.”
“What about from yours?”
“I’m not giving up. You know that. I could never forget about this.” She avoided eye contact and pulled something from her purse. “So I got this.”
“Kenna. What’s that?”
“Beth’s birth certificate.”
“Is this the part I’m not going to like?”
“Maybe. Or maybe you’ll love it.” She smiled hopefully. “At one point, Diane left the room to get Andy some coffee, and I checked her file cabinet under Myers, and I made a copy.”
“You didn’t.” No wonder Andy was pissed. In addition to being ethically reckless, what if she’d been caught? That would end their relationship with First Steps—and potentially a lot more. “What the heck did Andy do?”
“He couldn’t decide whether to tackle me or look innocent. Actually, he tried both.” She held out the paper. “Take it.” I froze. “Nicki. Come on. Andy will forgive me, and I think it was worth it. Decide after you read it.”
I gingerly unfolded the sheet. “West Virginia Delayed Birth Certificate,” I read aloud. “What does that mean?”
“Check the date on the bottom. The certificate was issued when Beth was fifteen. She wasn’t born at a hospital, so it looks like her parents had to prove it really happened.”
“Where was she born?” I saw the answer before Kenna provided it. Dr. Rush’s address was listed as the place of birth. I read aloud to Kenna and told her what I knew.
There was a small section labeled Abstract of Supporting Evidence. It listed her parents’ marriage application, a copy of her newborn checkup, and a statement from the physician who attended her birth: Dr. Rush. Yuck.
“It must have been an emergency,” Kenna said. “But here’s the thing. Beth told me her mother had a short labor at the hospital, and that Beth’s father missed the delivery because he was stuck in traffic. I specifically remember her saying that because she wanted her delivery to go that quickly, too.”
“That explains why she’s confused. Plus, why wait to get a birth certificate? That makes no sense. You need one for registering for school, getting a social security card—everything.”
“Do you think maybe her parents were hiding something from her?” Kenna asked.
“I guess. But what?” Feeling clueless reminded me to call George while it was still early. I encouraged Kenna to stay. “Don’t mention how we got our information,” I said. “We don’t want to scare him off.”
Kenna pushed aside her food, and I picked up the phone.
“Nicki,” George greeted me after I reintroduced myself. “Tell me more about this missing young lady.”
“If you don’t mind,” I said, “I’m going to put you on speakerphone. My friend Kenna is with me, and she’s much closer than I am to the case,” I explained. “Is that okay?”
“Sure, sure,” he said graciously. “Go right ahead.”
I pulled a marker and paper out of a nearby drawer and prepared to take notes. Kenna said hello and expressed her gratitude.
“Before we start,” I said, “Why don’t you tell us about your background? Dean says it’s really impressive.”
“I came up through the ranks in the FBI,” he explained, “and ended up with a unit that handles crimes against children.” Ended up? I was sure he’d worked hard to get there. “I worked a lot of missing children cases. Now I volunteer to help with cold cases. It’s incredibly fulfilling and intense. I also own an agency, as you know, Nicki. I guess retirement just isn’t for me.” He laughed softly.
“Lucky for the rest of us,” I said. “I feel like it’s a miracle we met you.”
I looked at Kenna. She was wide-eyed, slack-jawed and nodding.
“So tell me again what you’re working with. Hopefully I can lend a hand,” George said.
“Well I’m completely new at this,” I said, quickly reviewing my lack of expertise. Then I expanded on what I’d said at dinner, including the fact I was probably being pursued by a gang. It was awkward discussing the details of Kenna’s life in front of her, but it was also a relief, since she could chime in anytime. Instead, my talkative friend surprised me with silence.
“I’d like to make you an offer,” George said. This gave me pause. I hoped I hadn’t misunderstood this whole thing. I looked at Kenna, who couldn’t afford to pay for more than an hour of George’s time, which, given his background, had to be expensive.
At the same time, with his skills, I wanted to hand over my life savings if it would bring Beth home and give Kenna the baby she longed for. I focused on a mental picture of my kids so I wouldn’t go overboard.
“Sure,” I said to George. “Go ahead.”
“My heart and soul are in this business,” George said. I already felt tears coming to my eyes. His voice was so warm that something good had to be coming. “Dean told me that hiring an investigator isn’t something you can consider right now. At least not for the amount of work this kind of case requires. And Nicki, you’ve got a lot on your plate, not to mention two children, I hear.”
“Yes,” I confirmed, dumbstruck.
“I can’t promise you anything,” he warned.
“We understand,” Kenna interjected.
“It sounds like you especially need someone in West Virginia, plus some research here. I’m able to provide that at a very, very low cost. I mean minimal, just so we can make things official. It’s not something to concern yourselves with. Believe me, nothing would make an old guy like me happier than bringing home a child. I’m sure the local investigators feel the same way, but they’re limited by time and resource restraints. I guarantee you, their hearts are in it.”
Kenna and I stared at each other, and then the phone, in disbelief.
“I don’t know what to say,” Kenna told George. “My husband and I thank you from the bottom of our hearts.”
Finding Sky (A Nicki Valentine Mystery Book 1) Page 25