by Karen Rose
Clay was quiet for a long moment. “Why did Stan and Randi wait so long to get Alec the implant? If he had meningitis when he was two, why’d they wait until he was nine?”
This Ethan remembered clearly and he’d already started making conclusions. “The surgery’s expensive, over fifty thousand dollars, and it wasn’t covered by their insurance. Stan and Randi didn’t have any money back then. Stan was working at his dad’s electronics store, barely making ends meet. We all worked to add to the savings account for Alec’s surgery, but Richard couldn’t afford to add much. He had a family.”
“Three girls, right?”
Ethan thought about them, the little girls that had been the foundation of Richard’s life. The little girls that would grow up without a father. The grief welled up, but Ethan pushed it back. “Yeah. Then Stan started growing his dad’s business, adding new stores. Made enough to get Alec the surgery.”
“And in the process made an enemy that hated him enough to kidnap his kid?”
“The thought occurred to me. Stan promised a list of his customers and suppliers.”
Clay nodded briefly. “Do you believe they’ll kill Alec if we call the cops right now?”
Ethan had expected the question, asked it of himself a hundred times since he’d agreed to help. “They’ve already killed one man. They don’t have a lot to lose. I know Stan and Randi believe it and I know there’s no way they’re calling the cops. If the cops or the FBI get involved, it’ll be because we called them. I couldn’t live with myself if Alec got killed because we did.”
“What about him?” Clay jerked his head toward the shed.
“McMillan? Stan needs to report finding him. He can say he found a suicide on his property. Maybe the locals will be able to find something on the body that will help.”
“Will Stan do it?”
Ethan pursed his lips. Tried to reconcile his memories of Stan with the man who’d stood on this very dock planning to use his boat to drag the body of an innocent man out to sea. “If he wants our help he will.”
Clay was silent another long moment. “Then let’s go trace that e-mail.”
Chicago, Friday, July 30, 10:45 P.M.
Dana stood in the shadows at the east exit of the bus terminal. It was the most inconspicuous place to wait if one didn’t want to be seen. She’d lost count of the number of times she’d waited here over the years, but never forgot the women she’d met here. The face of each one was indelibly stamped in her memory. They came from all walks of life, different backgrounds, places, ages. Their paths might never have crossed under normal circumstances, but these women didn’t live under normal circumstances. Too many had never even known normal circumstances. All had been battered, some worse than others. Most wore the evidence where it could be easily seen by anyone who cared to look. Their cuts and bruises would be treated and in time would heal.
The scars to their souls were much harder to treat. Some would find the strength to pick up and go on and others would not. It was as simple and as complicated as that.
Tonight she was to meet a woman named Jane Smith. Not terribly original as an alias went, but it would do for the time being. Jane was coming from downstate and she had a ten-year-old son. Erik was his name.
The children were always the hardest for Dana to personally deal with. The fear she saw in their eyes, the utter desolation. The defeat and the shame. The knowledge that regardless of what she personally did, each child would grow into an adult who would always carry those internal scars. This she knew all too well.
She straightened, watching. The bus had just come in and passengers were starting to trickle through the terminal. Old women, old men. A mother with her child. Dana watched them from the shadows, quickly determined they were not the two she sought. The mother smiled too readily, the child’s eyes were too bright.
Then she saw them. The woman was of medium height. It was hard to tell her build as she wore a pair of shapeless beige coveralls. Her head was down and she wore a baseball cap with a large bill. She held the hand of a thin little boy, tugged him forward. He stumbled a little and the woman all but lifted him to his feet.
Dana hoped the child’s sluggishness was due to the late hour and a long journey and not illness. The woman was looking around, her tension almost palpable. Dana stepped from the shadows and watched the tension ease. “Jane? Erik?”
The woman looked up long enough for Dana to see a heavily battered face before dropping her eyes back down to the ground. This woman had been beaten, and recently. But the child was of an even greater concern at the moment. He refused to look up when she called his name, but that in and of itself wasn’t unusual. What disturbed her was the intensity of his withdrawal, as if he concentrated on not making eye contact. She dropped to one knee, tried to hook a finger under his chin, but he jerked away, trembling, his thin shoulders hunched so hard. It was enough to break her heart. It always was.
“It’s all right,” Dana murmured. “No one will hurt you here. You don’t have to be afraid anymore.” She rose to her feet, lightly touched the woman’s shoulder, felt her stiffen. Even more lightly touched the woman’s chin, tilting her face up. Bruises and welts covered her face, both vicious and recent, but it was the woman’s eyes that made Dana flinch. In the dim light they appeared almost white. Quickly Dana threw off the chill and made her mouth smile warmly. “I’m Dana. Welcome.”
Wight’s Landing, Friday, July 30, 11:00 P.M.
Ethan sat down at the little desk against the wall and prepared to trace the e-mail while Clay checked out the upstairs. Working quickly, he networked his computer to Randi’s and opened the e-mail with its hideous attachment. On his computer, he ran software he needed to trace the e-mail.
“You do this a lot?” Randi murmured from the couch.
“Tracing e-mails? Enough.”
She got up and stood behind him, crossing her arms over her chest, hunching her shoulders. “Ethan, what exactly do you do?”
His lips quirked up at her hesitant tone. “Clay and I work with companies to improve their security. I make sure that hackers can’t get into their systems and steal information. And that they have surveillance on their employees to prevent theft as well.”
“You mean you help bosses spy on their employees.”
“Essentially, yes. A lot of our customers are defense contractors. Their secrets need to stay secret. Their government clearance and the country’s security depends on it.”
“What does Clay do?”
“He trains their security guards. Sometimes he trains police departments in small towns on use of assault weapons and personal defense.”
“And you’re successful at this?”
Ethan’s smile was grim this time. “Yeah, Randi, we are.” They were good at what they did, he and Clay. He could only pray they were good enough to find Alec.
He finished entering the information and let the software do what it had been designed to do—trace e-mails to the point of origination. Felt a surge of relief at the result. “Well, at least we’re not dealing with anybody who knows anything about servers. This message came straight through.” A more sophisticated person might have rerouted the message a few times before landing it on Randi’s server.
“Then . . . then that’s good?” Randi’s voice was small, but Ethan heard a flicker of hope.
He looked over his shoulder, met her eyes. “Yeah, that’s good.” He did a reverse search. “This e-mail came from . . . Campus Joe’s Copy Store, Morgantown, West Virginia.” He swiveled the chair abruptly. “Do you know anybody there?”
Eyes wide and haunted, she shook her head. “No. I’ve never been there.”
Clay came down the stairs, a frown on his face. “You find anything?”
Randi wrung her hands. “It came from West Virginia. They have Alec up there.”
Clay’s frown deepened. “They’re on the move.”
Ethan shut down his laptop. “I need to get to Morgantown. Can you stay here in case
they call with ransom demands? Did you bring that case from my office?”
“It’s in my car.”
“Good. I’ll set up the tracing equipment on the phone line before I go.”
He stood up and Clay grabbed his arm, his dark eyes worried. Clay darted a look at Randi, then looked back at Ethan. “You’ve been working eighteen-hour days. I’ll go.”
Ethan tried not to let annoyance flare. For all his tough-guy image, Clay Maynard worried about him like a mother. “Thanks, but I’m fine.”
Clay let go of his arm. “Fine,” he muttered. “Have an episode behind the wheel.”
Ethan kept his tone mild. “I haven’t had one in months, and you know it.”
Randi was watching them warily. “What’s wrong?”
Ethan patted her hand. “Nothing. Now I want you to listen to me. While I’m gone I want you to eat, even if you’re not hungry. I want you to sleep, even if you have to take a pill to do it, because Alec needs you to be strong, not exhausted. Okay?”
She’d seemed to shrink as he talked. Solemnly, she nodded. “Ethan, will you find him?”
Statistics raced through his mind, none of them good. The first few days were critical in tracking prey and those days were already gone. But Randi was looking up at him with trust and tears in her eyes and he found himself nodding back. Saying words he hoped wouldn’t be a lie. “I’ll find him.”
Chapter Three
Chicago, Saturday, July 31, 5:45 P.M.
“You’re going to break your neck.”
Startled out of her thoughts, Dana’s grip tightened on the sides of the ladder and she glanced down from her perch even though she knew full well who was down there. David Hunter stared up, hands on his hips, a look of annoyance on a face that had most women instantly falling in love. Dana had often questioned her own sanity at not being one of those women. Instead, David was a treasured friend, one of a few who knew what she did here, lending his hands to the effort whenever he could. “I will if you keep scaring me like that,” she responded, turning back to her inspection of the shingles. “We have a leak.”
“Dammit, Dana, I told you I’d be by in a few days to check that for you.”
“You’ve been busy working. I didn’t know when you’d get a chance to come by.” But the truth was, she was on the roof because she couldn’t sit still. She’d been fidgety since her argument with Evie, wondering if she could do more. If she should.
“Well, I’m here now,” David countered. “Come down and let me fix it right.”
Dana pursed her lips. “I was fixing things right long before you came along, big boy.”
“True,” he acknowledged. There was a short pause, then slyly, “I can see up your skirt.” Dana snorted a laugh and pulled at the loose shingle. “Not that I’m complaining,” David continued helpfully. “Just thought you’d want to know.”
“Go away or I’ll tell your mother you go around looking up girls’ skirts.”
“Go ahead. Ma’s just going to lecture you not to climb a ladder in a skirt.”
He was right there. But Phoebe Hunter wouldn’t stop there, going on to cluck her tongue at the fact that Dana was too independent. If she had a man in her life she wouldn’t have to do her own repairs. Which would be followed by a meaningful glance at David, her only unmarried son. Which both Dana and David would just ignore with a smile.
They were friends. David had his own life, his own girlfriends. And she had her life and Hanover House was the core of it. She climbed down, frowning at him when she reached the ground, even though David always made her want to grin. It was part of his charm. “You didn’t have to look up my skirt.”
David beamed a beatific smile. “We’ll just have to disagree. Now let me have a look.”
She watched him start up the ladder, grateful he’d come by even as insufferable as he was. She could fix all manner of small things, but a roof was a bit more of a challenge than she was willing to tackle at the moment. “Well?”
“You’ve got some slippage. I’ll get some roofing tar and shingles and put it back to rights.” He started back down. “I’ll come back tomorrow afternoon.” He gave her a hard stare when his feet hit the ground. “You’ve got circles under your eyes. What’s wrong?”
Dana grimaced. “If you notice, you’re not supposed to mention it. It’s not polite.”
His sideways grin nearly disarmed her. “Since when have I ever been polite? I’m the one who looks up girls’ skirts.” He sobered, dropping his gaze to the toe of his work boot before glancing up from the corner of his eye. “You and Evie have a fight?”
Dana blew out a sigh. “You talked to her?”
“Didn’t have to. I asked where you were and she just pointed without saying a word, like the Grim Reaper. What happened?”
Dana made herself smile. “Evie thinks I’m not doing enough to ensure client success.”
David’s face darkened. “In whose universe? If anything you do too much.” He considered her for a long minute, his jaw tightening. “You’re wondering if she’s right, so you fussed and obsessed until climbing a ladder in a skirt and open-toed sandals sounded like a good idea.”
He knew her well. “Maybe just a little.”
“Well, she’s wrong. You do more than enough. You do too much.”
The forced smile eased into a natural one at the vehemence of his defense. “Thank you. I needed to hear that. Let’s go inside, get some iced tea. It’s too damn hot out here.”
David didn’t move, just stood blocking her path. “I’m serious, Dana. I think you do too much and it worries me.” He glanced from side to side and lowered his voice. “I know what you do is necessary, vital. But that won’t help you if you get caught.”
She stepped around him, not willing to have this conversation today. Again. “I don’t plan to get caught.” He caught her upper arm and gently squeezed until she looked up at him over her shoulder. His gray eyes were serious, bordering on grim.
“Nobody plans to get caught. Promise me you’ll stop going to the bus station in the middle of the night.”
“I can’t promise that, David. You know that.”
“You mean you won’t.”
She quirked her mouth in a half smile. “A little of column A, a little of column B?”
He didn’t smile back. “It’s not funny, Dana. It’s dangerous there at night. If you won’t promise me, at least call me so that I can go with you.”
“No. You’re a hell of a guy, David, but these women are running from men. They wouldn’t trust me if I brought a man with me. Even you. Now how about that tea?”
With a frustrated shake of his head, he gave it up, following her into the kitchen. He closed the door behind them, wincing when the deadbolt screeched. “I’ll fix that for you when I come to do the roof.”
“Thanks. It made an awful racket when I came in last night.”
David narrowed his eyes as she poured their tea. “When you were coming back from the bus station in the middle of the night?”
“I was home before midnight.” With Jane Smith with the odd-colored eyes and facial bruises and her son Erik with the nasty burn on his cheek and refusal to meet anyone’s eyes. When Dana had applied ointment to the burn, the boy had kept his eyes clenched shut, not responding to a single question or offer of food. He’d been terrified, even though his mother had kept her hand on his back the entire time. She’d seen Jane only once today. She’d taken a plate back up to the boy, saying he was too tired to come down on his own. It wasn’t exactly normal, but by no means unusual. Jane would come around. Dana worried about Erik.
“Well, all right,” David grumbled. “Before midnight’s not so bad.”
“I’m so glad you approve,” Dana said dryly. Tonight she would go to the bus station in the middle of the night, but thought that best left unsaid. The woman who hadn’t shown on Thursday had called to say she was unable to escape, but that she was coming tonight. Dana didn’t believe she would, but would of course be there
in the event that she did.
David lifted his tea to his lips, then stopped, his gaze fixed over her shoulder. “Dana.”
Evie stood in the kitchen doorway, her face carefully blank. The petite blonde standing beside her looked way too sober and Dana felt her knees wobble and her heart race.
“Mia.” Dana’s voice was unsteady. It was never a good thing when old friends looked too sober, especially when those friends were homicide detectives. “What’s happened?”
Dana and Mia had met years before, when Mia was a beat cop and Dana the new manager of Hanover House, and had quickly become friends. A good number of her clients had been referred by Mia over the years. Dana often wondered if Mia knew about the papers Dana provided, but if she did, Mia never said a word.
Mia Mitchell hadn’t come on a social call. One look at Dana’s pale face told her that her friend knew it. Mia hated these calls. They normally started with I’m Detective Mia Mitchell and ended with I’m sorry for your loss. It was a hard enough conversation to have with a stranger. When it was a close friend . . .
“Dana, I need to talk with you.” Mia glanced over meaningfully at the tall dark man wearing a tool belt. It was unusual to see a man at Hanover House. She didn’t think she ever had before. “Privately.”
“It’s okay, Mia. He knows. David, this is Detective Mia Mitchell.”
He reached around Dana to stick out his hand. “I’m David Hunter.”
“Caroline’s brother-in-law,” Dana clarified.
Mia’s brows lifted as she shook his hand. Max Hunter’s brother. She should have seen it immediately, but she was . . . distracted. She was about to deliver news that would tear Dana into pieces. “Dots connected. Good to meet you, Mr. Hunter. How is Caroline?”
“It’s David and she’s as big as a house,” David answered quietly. “But healthy.”
“I’m glad to hear it.” She straightened her spine. “I need to give you some news, Dana, and it’s not good. You might want to sit down.”
Dana crossed her arms over her chest, resolute, but trembling. “I’ll stand. Who, Mia?”