by Molly Greene
Gen pulled out her phone. “Where are we going?”
“To trace her cell, if it’s still on.”
“So you don’t expect her to be home.”
“Just covering all the bases.” Garcia flicked on his signal and slowed for a turn. “If she’s there, I’ll take you back and we’ll go up and have a beer and laugh about it.”
She thumbed the number pad and waited.
“Her voice mail is picking up.” She jabbed at the phone and entered another number. “Oliver, it’s Gen. Have you heard anything?”
She looked at Garcia and shook her head.
“Liv, use your key. Maybe she’s there and doesn’t want to answer the door.” She covered the phone. “He says of course he’s been in her condo.”
Garcia scowled.
“Have you checked the garage for her vee-dub?”
She sighed, then looked over and nodded. “He checked the garage fifteen minutes ago. Bree’s car isn’t in her spot. He says he even checked the street. And the pool. She’s not anywhere.”
Garcia’s knuckles tightened on the wheel. He rocked his eyes to Gen, then back to the road. “We’ll find her.”
“And she’ll be all right.”
It was Garcia’s turn to nod.
“Should you send someone up to Sausalito?”
“It’d be a wild goose chase unless GPS locates her and we know where to look. For now, we’ll notify the local uniforms to watch for her car.”
Garcia and Gen fell silent. The street lamps created a light show in the cab, strobing overhead as the Tahoe jetted down the street. Gen bet they were both cycling through potential outcomes to the evening.
She shunned the scenarios that were too frightening to consider. Bree’s cell had to have been lost, left behind, or stolen, and her car had broken down somewhere and she couldn’t get to a phone.
Anything else was unthinkable.
She straightened and clenched her jaw. Now was the time to think clearly. To ferret out any possible sign of where Bree might be. To figure out where she was holed up.
To find her.
Now was the time to focus on solutions.
“Let’s get her back safe, Garcia.”
* * *
The unexpected chill knocked the breath from her lungs again. Bree’s heart beat like a drum in her chest. She fought panic, resisting the urge to claw to the surface. If they saw her face, they’d use it for target practice.
This time they wouldn’t miss.
She battled a suffocating need for air until she heard the whisper of her swim coach’s voice.
Her decades-old water survival training kicked in.
Take charge of your mind. Control your body. Eliminate self-defeating thoughts. Focus on saving yourself.
You can do it, Bree.
She let her weight carry her down.
She tore at the tape on her face, again using her nails to rip at the ragged upper edge.
Within thirty seconds it was gone.
Then she worked on the tape on her wrists, tearing at it violently with her teeth until her hands were free. Her feet were still bound, but it didn’t matter. She’d deal with them later.
Now it was time to fight.
The boat’s speed had carried it beyond her position, but the kidnappers had dialed up the light to its full intensity and started back around.
Bree used her muscled thighs and a well-honed dolphin kick to surface, grab a monstrous breath, then sink again. She remained parallel to the circling boat, outside the ever-widening loop they would execute in an effort to confine and re-capture her.
Her hair billowed around her like a seaweed headdress. She pulled stroke after brutal stoke with her arms, and used her powerful dolphin kick to propel her body far beyond the sphere of light.
Bree’s confidence grew. She felt a unique satisfaction, despite her situation. She was certain her skill and her dark clothing would win this match.
Her kidnappers didn’t know she could hold her breath like a free diver and swim like a fish. All she had to do was keep her head, outmaneuver the boat, and psych herself into forgetting about the cold.
From there, she’d figure out where she was.
And how to get home.
* * *
Garcia was on the phone arranging to track Bree’s cell long before they reached the station. By the time they parked and hurried inside, Mack had news.
“Her phone is on and we pinged it,” Mack said. “She’s still up north. Are you sure she didn’t want a little time alone?”
“We’re sure,” Garcia replied. “Let’s get somebody up there, see if they can pinpoint the location.”
“Already got it. Staff at the Mountain Home Inn in Mill Valley verified that a white Volkswagen with Miss Butler’s plates is sitting in their parking lot on Panoramic Highway. She hasn’t checked in. Not under her own name, anyway. I’m about to fax her driver’s license photo up to see if anybody recognizes her.”
Gen froze in disbelief.
Garcia continued. “Anyone see the car enter the lot?”
“None of the employees we’ve talked with on the phone. I can canvass guests when I get there.” Mack must have noted the stunned expression on Gen’s face. “Genny?”
“I, uh–”
“Wait, don’t say it.” Garcia was riled again. “There’s something you haven’t told us.”
“I found a blog that mentioned Catherine Robeson. She worked at that motel a while back. Bree and Oliver and I drove up to see if we could find her. That’s how we got her address and found the mushroom farm.”
“Mushroom farm?” Mack looked confused.
“I’ll fill you in later,” Garcia replied. “Genny, if I find out you’re hiding anything else, I will personally arrest you.”
Mack jumped in. “Could be good news.” His drawl was back. “She might be there to ask about Robeson again. I’ll head up now and check around.”
“Thanks Mack.” Gen felt relieved, although she couldn’t imagine why. What was Bree doing back in Muir Woods?
“Miss Delacourt.” Hackett touched the bill of his cap and left.
* * *
Bree surfaced a hundred feet from the boat and pulled in another breath. The men had their backs to her, watching the ocean. Just as she’d thought, they were widening their turns, orbiting the spot where she’d gone in. She could see them clearly in the bright beam cast by the light atop the cabin.
They’d removed their masks.
She shivered, and this time not because of the frigid water. They must expect that she was dead, drowned because her bonds and the tape across her mouth prevented her from saving herself.
That, or they didn’t care if she saw their faces.
They considered her a dead woman either way.
The vessel began its turn. When the pair were about to face her again, she sank below the water and resumed progress in the opposite direction, plotting a trajectory that would carry her away from danger.
A dozen times she repeated the process, keeping the sound of the engine at her back. Surface, check position, sink, swim. It must have been half an hour before they gave up and drove away, leaving her alone.
She floated on her back to rest, then tore at the tape binding her ankles. Too late, Bree realized she should have done this earlier; now her fingers were quivering with cold.
At last, she loosened the sticky mass. Her legs were free. She treaded water and spun slowly.
Where was she?
Twinkling lights looped around her, far in the distance. Not one shoreline appeared closer than another.
She was in the bay.
A string of lights to the right must be the Golden Gate. If so, she was in shipping lanes. Someone might see her in the dark.
Or run her over.
That thought, combined with a ferocious trembling brought on by the cold, prompted her to take action. Which way should she swim?
North to money, south to spirit.
She turned on her face and headed south, forcing her leaden arms into a crawl and taking care to kick just beneath the surface.
Sharks cruised these waters; best to avoid creating any splash. No sense attracting attention by acting like dinner.
* * *
“Mack just checked in,” Garcia said. “The car is locked. The steering wheel, dash, and door were wiped clean. No fingerprints but Bree’s anywhere else. If she didn’t drive it there, whoever did wore gloves. No purse or car keys, but they did find her cell under the seat. No prints but hers on that, either.”
Gen thought about this new twist. “Why would she hide her phone and not her purse?”
“Hard to say. People do things on impulse.”
“You can say that again.” Gen’s heart sank at the image of Bree following Vonnegon. Why would she go off alone? “Any chance someone checked her in and they’re off duty now?”
“No new guests in the hotel in the past few hours. Mack is following up with the employees who’ve gone home, but so far nobody’s seen or heard anything to do with her or the car.”
“So far?”
“He still has a couple people from housekeeping to track down.”
Gen said a silent prayer that the lead would pan out.
* * *
Bree was exhausted. Her body was quaking from the freezing water. She felt like she was dancing drunk in liquid ice.
Hypothermia.
She knew the symptoms, but there was nothing she could do but keep moving and hope for the best.
The lights along the coast seemed closer. A few boats had hummed by in the dark, but none near enough to see her. She’d tried to hail the first two but stopped. Yelling drained the precious energy that was critical in the push to gain the shore.
As a distraction, she pretended to be swimming laps in the pool. One hundred strokes on her right side, then turn to the left. One hundred more. One hundred back strokes, then face the lights and do the same in breast strokes, willing the city to come closer with every wrenching movement.
Row, row, row your boat.
Her old swim coach would not be impressed with her technique, but Bree didn’t care. Although she’d lost feeling in her limbs, even the twitchy movements were gaining a little ground.
Just keep going.
One hundred side strokes, one hundred back strokes. The seas grew higher. Seaweed curled around her leg and was gone. A fish grazed her arm and she recoiled, then reached for another stroke, and another.
She gave it everything she had, but a thousand counts later she was done. Tremors kept her from raising her arms, moving her legs effectively, or completing even one more movement. She felt herself slipping in and out of reality.
At last, Bree closed her eyes and just let go. She was nearly unconscious when she slipped beneath the swell.
As she sank, she gave her spirit over and felt relief. The trembling left her. She felt peace fill her like air extending the malleable interior of a balloon.
She was ready.
But as Bree’s body drifted ever lower, a vision formed in the part of her mind still able to function. It was Lilia Butler, suspended in the sea with her own swath of hair swirling in an arc around her radiant face. Her hand was out, gesturing. Her expression was infused with comfort and love.
“Mama,” Bree cried.
But her mother wasn’t beckoning to her, Bree realized. She was pointing.
“Cambria, go back,” the wraith whispered, even as the vision disappeared into the depths. “Go back.”
Bree woke with a start and scrabbled to the surface. Her hand grazed a rough strand of rope and she grabbed it. It was a length of fishing net strung with floats, broken free from some craft that probably regretted finding it gone.
As confused as she was, she felt joy.
This might be her salvation.
She wrapped her arms in the strands and gave herself over, knowing it would keep her head above water when she once again succumbed to the cold.
Dawn was beginning to lighten the sky. If she could stay alive until daylight, she had a chance.
“Mama, stay with me.”
* * *
At five o’clock in the morning, Gen was slouched in a metal chair beside Garcia’s desk. She was staring into the cold remains of a cup of stationhouse coffee when a uniformed dispatch cop walked across the room. He stood before them.
“Some street people in Dogpatch flagged down a car near one of the industrial centers. Told the driver some crazy-ass story about a beautiful mermaid caught in a fishing net. The driver used his cell to call it in. Says he wouldn’t have paid any attention, but something about the look in their eyes convinced him. He said it’s weird, but he thinks there must be something to it. We’re thinking they found a floater. Maybe a woman with long hair. Dispatch sent an ambulance, it’s already on the way.”
“Thanks, Franco.” Garcia was out of his seat, skinning on his jacket. “Let’s go.”
Gen abandoned the mug and followed him to the Tahoe. She prayed it wouldn’t be Bree, but if it was, she prayed her friend was alive. When she cast a glance Garcia’s way, his lips were moving.
Life was fraught with whim and chance. One day all was serene, the next trouble grabbed you in its fist and you couldn’t breathe for the pressure.
“If it’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that you don’t give yourself over to believing bad people always win.” Garcia’s voice had lost its harsh edge. “Don’t give up.”
Gen turned to the window and clutched at hope. “Thanks, Eric.”
Sirens and flashing lights led them to a lot that bordered a boulder-strewn jetty. They were close to the soup kitchen. A cadre of shabby men huddled between a bank of dumpsters pushed against a building wall.
Paramedics halfway down the pier were hunched over a blanket-shrouded figure.
Garcia broke into a jog.
Gen walked slowly, resisting the urge to learn the truth any faster than she could handle it. The waves were crashing against the barrier. Sea spray stung her face as she fought the fear constricting her throat. When the wind howled off the water she wondered if the sound was coming from her, if it was her voice crying out, if she was screaming with sorrow.
He was running back by the time she’d reached the rocks. She stopped. Her heart beat in time with his footsteps.
“It’s Bree. She’s in bad shape, but she’s still alive. It looks like she’s been in the water all night. They’re doing what they can, but they need to get her to the hospital. She’s going to have to put up the fight of her life.”
Garcia must have seen the despair on Gen’s face, because he moved quickly to wrap his arms around her. “Good thoughts. Let’s get out of their way now and let them do their job.”
The EMTs moved Bree’s body onto a gurney and strapped her in. Gen turned away, struggling to think what she could do to help.
She saw the bedraggled group by the trash bins and went to them. “Hey guys,” she said. Her voice was quiet. “Did you find my friend?”
They nodded.
“Thank you for helping her.” Her voice broke and she clasped the hand of one. He wore the gloves Bree had given away at the soup kitchen.
Had fate interceded?
“You’re soaked,” she said. “Your feet are wet. Come with me.” Gen herded the men back to the Tahoe. “I need a favor,” she said.
“They know I’m a cop. They won’t get in the car unless I arrest them, and I can’t.”
“I’m thinking hot coffee. We can get some at a shelter a block away. Let’s go and bring it back here, along with dry socks. It’s the least we can do.”
She felt a sob bubbling to the surface and cut it off, telling herself that Gen Delacourt did not cry in public. “Bree would want us to take care of them.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
Twenty hours later the doctors declared their charge out of the woods, and Bree was moved from the ICU to a private room. She weaved in and out of wakefulness, fina
lly opening her eyes the following morning.
Gen was dozing in a chair beside the bed.
“Genny,” Bree whispered.
Her lids flew open and she struggled upright, then squeezed Bree’s hand and bowed her head over it. “You scared the hell out of us.”
Bree’s voice was weak when she replied. “I scared the hell out of myself.”
“Garcia and Mack have been in and out of the hospital, and Oliver called your sister last night. She’s on her way.”
“Cooper? I hope he didn’t scare her.”
“It was frightening, Bree.”
“But there’s nothing they can do.”
Gen patted her hand. “I’m guessing Garcia’s going to give you the third degree about what happened, so I won’t ask a lot of questions. You’ll need to save your strength.”
“I don’t have much to tell. I followed Vonnegon to Sausalito. I saw him with a guy, so I parked the car and went back to hear what they were arguing about. I think he put a cloth over my mouth. It must’ve had chloroform or something like that on it, because I was out in an instant. I couldn’t even get it together enough to scream.
“Next thing I know, I’m trussed up with duct tape in a boat, and two jerks with covered faces grab me and take me upstairs. I saw a gun. It looked like they were going to use it, so I jumped overboard. That’s it.”
Someone in the hall cleared their throat, drawing both women’s attention.
“I have a feeling you know more than that.” Garcia was leaning against the jamb with his arms crossed over his chest. “It could take a while for details to come back.”
“Hey Eric.”
“Hey Bree.” He pushed off the wall and dragged another chair close. “Nice to see you awake and smiling.”
“It’s nice to be here. I thought I’d be sleeping with the fishes.”
“I bet. Doctors figure you were in the water for hours. You’re a tough cookie.”
“it felt more like days.” Bree’s thin laugh ended in a cough. “I don’t feel so tough now.”
Gen stood and released Bree’s hand, then leaned over and placed a palm alongside her cheek. She kissed her forehead. “I’m going home for a while, but I’ll be back. I bet Garcia wants some alone time.” Gen winked. “See you later. I am so happy to be able to say that.”