by Lucy Farago
Both women were beautiful. Jessie now wore her dark hair in shoulder-length curls. She had a young Angela Bassett thing going on. The other woman’s long, auburn ponytail swept around one shoulder and down clear to her hip and if her tan was any indication, she spent a lot of time outside. Cowboy smiled. Used to be all a woman had to say was, “Can I ride your horse?” and he’d be in heaven.
The information on Grace was just the basics. She had a degree in journalism, oddly from a Canadian university. He shrugged. Maybe she liked snow. In fact, for the past few years she hadn’t done much of anything except focus on her career. No hobbies that anyone knew of, not even a boyfriend. Strange, considering how pretty she was. But maybe she wasn’t looking. Could be she was one of those workaholics he’d heard tell about.
Monty had supplied a flash drive with a more detailed file, including something they’d just recently started to do, psych profiles. Workups were done on any breathing targets or assignments, protecting the team from surprises. Monty had added a PS note that said, “Don’t slack off, read it.” Monty had a lot of nerve. Cowboy took his job seriously and he never slacked off… when it came right down to it. This was just one little girl he had to babysit without her knowing it. How hard could it be? But once he got his computer booted up, he’d take a peak or never hear the end of it from his nerdy pal.
Cowboy continued to flip through the files, telling himself not to get any preconceived ideas about either woman. Jessie had always been a delicate little thing, afraid of her own shadow, too preoccupied about what others thought of her. Was she that same sweet girl who would do anything for anyone, putting everyone else’s needs ahead of her own? For her sake, he hoped not. Could be she’d finally decided to take life by the horns and ride the SOB. She’d become a reporter. She had to get out of the office and report, right? Though he doubted reporting on community events took much guts. Something told him she hadn’t changed and that wasn’t good.
He slapped the file on his knee. “Fuck me.”
Someone gasped. He looked up and realized his once empty corner was no more.
“Sorry,” he said to the woman, who was now grabbing her kid’s hand and dragging him off to find another seat.
He’d been making an effort to watch his cussing. He did it far too often, but when you’re fourteen and the only way to protect yourself is to fake it, a nasty mouth came in handy. Which brought him back to Jessie. If she hadn’t changed, and she was still alive—he hoped she was still alive—then she’d be right back where she was all those years ago, a target for scum.
Some people just couldn’t stand seeing perfection. If there was a tidy bed, they’d mess it up. A perfectly iced cake, they’d swipe a finger through the icing. Edward Stanton was one of those people. Build a perfect house of cards, he’d knock it over. He’d been a bully and that son of a bitch couldn’t stand anything, no matter how inane, being better than his spoiled, rotten ass. Jessie had been a ray of sunshine that he had had to stop from shining.
Cowboy turned back to her picture. Had Stanton succeeded? She looked happy, but did a woman ever get over being raped? He made a mental note to do his homework on that particular topic. It might not help find Jessie, but it might tell him what kind of woman she’d become and if she stood a fighting chance of surviving whatever had happened to her now.
His flight was called to board. He tucked the file under his arm and stood. That was one good thing about being seven feet tall, Ryan flew him first class. Which was fine by Cowboy. If he couldn’t be the one flying the plane, at least he couldn’t wipe his nose with his knees. He passed his ticket to the gate agent, then made his way to the plane. Inside, a male flight attendant took his bag and offered him a drink while he grabbed his seat. He ordered a bourbon and waited until they were in the air and his drink delivered before reopening the file. Luckily no one sat beside him. People in first class tended to keep to themselves, but occasionally you’d find a talker.
The police report on the breakin turned out to be interesting. The place was generally ransacked. Two computers had been stolen, along with an e-reader and an old iPhone. Jewelry and a Bluetooth Bose speaker, found on the kitchen table, were left behind. Although Irvine was a tad overprotective of his daughter, he had good reason to think this wasn’t a robbery. Jewelry, well, maybe they were only interested in electronics—easier to pawn and less traceable. But then why take a worthless phone and leave a thousand-dollar speaker? No, they were looking for something. Something that could be held on an e-reader, phone, or computer. A story, perhaps?
He skimmed through a list of Jessie’s articles. She wasn’t an investigative reporter but who knew what she might have discovered. As he read, nothing stood out, except her last assignment, the one Irvine’s daughter had had a hand in getting her. Why give Jessie a political story—one she had no experience reporting? And more important, why would she have taken it? One would think that Jessie Cook would’ve stayed as far away as possible from Senator Presley Stanton.
Chapter Two
Never argue with a pigheaded man—especially one who carries a gun. It was the one thing Grace had learned over the years. If her father had made up his mind about something, nothing and no one was going to change it. She parked her car in the newspaper’s parking lot and did her best not to slam her car door. Unlike some people, her little putt-putt wasn’t as tough as it used to be.
She’d counted on her dad to mellow out over the years—for him to notice she was no longer a child—but if anything, the farther up the food chain he climbed, the stiffer he became. Chief Robert Irvine had earned his nickname, the Rod. At least when it came to her. He seemed to have no issue bending enough to call in a favor from his friend at ICU. Since when did the police, especially her father, call for backup in the form of a so-called private investigation agency? Especially one with sketchy practices. She’d only caught pieces of his private conversation yesterday morning but one thing had been clear—if she hadn’t, she’d have never known the lengths her father was willing to go to find Jessie.
She’d been eavesdropping; therefore, asking him exactly what the phone call was about was out of the question. So, she did her own digging. She’d found that apparently, if you wanted results you hired ICU, but it would cost you. Okay, that was their prerogative but the fact that her father had said, “Yours is an organization I trust,” made her reconsider some of the things she’d discovered.
She ruled out mercenaries. But a friend had told her he’d come across a rumor that a Russian mobster had put a hit on an American for stealing his girlfriend. It had been too juicy a tidbit to leave alone, consequently he’d done some research on the side. As it turned out, the mobster was a human trafficker and the girlfriend was no girlfriend. The man credited for rescuing the woman was no American, but a Scotsman employed by ICU. This guy had made one very powerful enemy. Run of the mill private investigation agency? She was going to rule that out too.
As she headed inside the building, she waved to front desk security and headed for the elevator, reminding herself that even though her father had refused to let her help, she shouldn’t be upset with him. He was violating his cop code of ethis in order to help find Jessie.Even if he had threatened to lock her up if she interfered in the investigation. She took her frustration out on the elevator button, pushing it three or four more times than needed. How could a man be willing to bend the rules on one hand, yet on the other refuse to tell her what, if anything, they’d discovered about Jessie’s disappearance?
He’d gone so far as to try to convince her the apartment breakin was unrelated. But to her, it looked like they’d been searching for something. Jessie’s notes? It was one of the reasons she hadn’t told him she’d taken over Jessie’s assignment.
Her father had tried to convince her they’d found no connection between Jessie’s story and her disappearance. So why wouldn’t he let her see the rough drafts Jessie had been working on? The little freak-out he’d had when she hinted at taking ov
er the story wasn’t exactly working in his favor either. Top it off with Jessie acting strange, and Grace wasn’t buying anything her dad was selling. After her first meeting with the senator, Jessie had been on edge and refused to admit something was wrong. What had happened that had made her usually Zen friend suddenly jumpy?
She’d known Jessie drew comfort from her feel-good assignments and would never ask for a juicier story. Grace had thought she was being a good friend, giving Jessie the push she needed by convincing George Furlow, their editor, to give her a shot. Maybe this wasn’t Grace’s fault as her father had insisted, but she’d bet if she’d kept her nose out of it, her best friend would be with her now. For starters, why would someone take Jessie’s computer? Fortunately, because this was Jessie’s first political exposé, George wanted updates and rough drafts. And her father’s team had put a lock on that information—five minutes after she’d gotten George’s assistant, Betty, to print every email and draft Jessie had sent. Robert Irvine wasn’t the only smart cookie in the family.
As the elevator doors sprang apart, Betty walked inside. “Hey,” she said with a big smile.
“Hey yourself. I was heading up to pick up that info we talked about.” She wasn’t about to get Betty in trouble by openly discussing the favor the woman had done for her.
“I’m heading out to JavaJava for George. That man is such a coffee snob. You’ll find what you need in the bottom drawer of my desk. He’s in a meeting.”
Meaning nobody would be around to see Grace going into Betty’s desk. “Thanks. I owe you.”
“Consider it payback for those football tickets. It made my son’s birthday. Okay, gotta go. There’s a shoe sale nearby and if the stars are aligned, I’ll have me anew pair and Mr. Grumpy’s coffee before he’s done.”
Grace found the manila envelope, with no one the wiser, then left for the airport. She’d already packed and had arranged a meeting with the senator for late afternoon. She could say he was being gracious to fit her in, but he was up for reelection and needed good press. His wife had been found guilty of drinking and driving after she’d plowed into a four-hundred-year-old oak that happened to be situated in front of an elementary school.
Her joyride had occurred around six p.m., but the words elementary school and drunk driver never sounded good in the same sentence, and sources were saying that the missus would have blown over any time of day. This was, after all, her third DUI. The senator’s office had attempted to cover it up, supposedly without his knowledge. Maybe Jessie had discovered he’d actually known about it. Would that be enough to take Jessie out of the equation? Rumor had it the man was headed for the White House. But Jesus, a little Betty Ford vacation and a contrite interview and he would have bought himself a few sympathy votes. There had to be more to it than that. Of course, the incident had occurred on the heels of his nephew’s rape trial.
At the airport she breezed through security and was waiting patiently in line at her gate when a first-class passenger’s carry-on connected with her sandaled foot. Grace squeaked in pain but the rude woman had the nerve to scowl at her, like she’d stuck her foot out on purpose. Flying first class didn’t mean you had any. She rubbed her toe, giving a shrug to the older man standing behind her and shaking his head. “Some people’s children,” she said, trying to laugh it off. What could you do? The world was what it was and this woman was one of many.
“No kidding,” he replied.
They were called next in line to board and she allowed the man to pass while she righted her sandal. He thanked her and led the way, a carry-on in his left hand, a bulky computer bag slung over his right shoulder. As they boarded, she spotted the woman who’d run over her toe and for the briefest of seconds considered telling her off, but judging from the way she was snipping at the steward, scolding a woman like that would get her nowhere. As it turned out karma got a little help. The man’s carry-on veered to the left, snagging on one of the seats. As he turned and backed up, his computer case smacked the woman in the head. Before she could recover, he was on his merry way, none the wiser to what he’d done. Jessie would’ve been horrified. Grace, however, wasn’t that charitable and had to bite her lower lip to keep from laughing.
Finding her seat, she tossed her luggage in the overhead bin and caught a glimpse of the man doing the same. He winked at her. She smiled back. Yet another thing Jessie would’ve admonished her for. Grace took her seat and rubbed the sudden ache in her chest. If something had happened to Jessie, Grace would never forgive herself. Besides being her best friend, Jessie made her a better person. Without her, Grace didn’t much care for the world and those in it. Her father had taken a bullet twice in the line of duty, putting away bad guys, and she’d grown up knowing there were many, many bad guys.
The woman who had rudely rolled over her foot was just another example of humans being nasty. Sure, good people existed, people like Jessie, and she’d tried to focus on the positive, but then someone would go and run over her foot. With a heavy sigh she pulled the envelope out of her computer bag, then toed the case back under the seat in front of her. Thankfully, no one was sitting beside her. She slipped Jessie’s pictures back into the envelope for later viewing and read. Although the haul from Dallas to San Antonio was a short one, by the time they’d landed she’d discovered Jessie was being underutilized at the paper. She’d been on the verge of a great story, just not the one George wanted.
She’d gotten Senator Stanton to open up about his family. Damn, with a few tweaks, Grace would actually start to feel sorry for the guy. The man had more skeletons in his closest than Indiana Jones. If his wife wasn’t smashing trees and his nephew assaulting college students, his father was under investigation from the IRS and his uncle suspected of embezzling money. The list went on and on. Was this another example of Jessie only seeing the good in people? She took what she assumed their editor had hoped to be a brutal exposé on the man and made it a human-interest story, one that would not only get him reelected, but quite possibly dub him as much a victim as the oak his wife had killed.
The seatbelt sign turned off. She had a couple of hours before her meeting and because she didn’t feel like being pushed and shoved, she planned to wait for everyone else before she herself stood. But a couple of minutes stretched into twenty. As it turned out, the plane at their gate had developed engine trouble and they had to be assigned another one. Sitting on a San Antonio tarmac on a very warm summer day wasn’t the best way to keep everyone happy. If she’d thought humanity nasty before, she thought even less of it by the time she herself stood to disembark.
As the flight attendant plastered on an apologetic smile and wished her a pleasant day, she realized the poor guy’s mood was probably a lot worse than hers. If Grace looked as unhappy as he, she’d better snap out of it before seeing the senator.
Grace had never liked Stanton. He was too polished, always saying the right thing. Sure, she was cynical, but he was a politician who came from money and a very powerful family. Besides his wife, his nephew had stood trial for rape but wasn’t convicted when the victim suddenly recanted. There’d been a couple of drug-related incidents with other cousins, and one scandal with a nanny that would’ve been comically cliché had the nanny not been a minor. Charges there were also never officially filed. With all the bad press his dysfunctional family stirred, Stanton managed to come out unscathed, a victim himself to the trial and tribulations of wealthy, spoiled relations. But no one ever had gotten him to open up about it.
She’d been hoping this time would be different. Jessie did see the good in people, but she could also smell a liar. As Grace made her way down the jetway, she remembered the time she and Jessie had taken a bus to Houston for a game and a tailgate party. They’d returned late and a little tipsy. The bus station had been empty, except for the two men in the ticket office and two more who’d been on the bus with them and were milling around a vending machine. As she and Jessie passed them to wait at the side entrance for their cab, Jessie h
ad paled. Grace assumed the beer they’d consumed was about to make a comeback when Jessie grabbed her hand and pulled her back toward the ticket office.
“Do you mind if we wait here?” Jessie had asked a ticket guy.
“Sure thing,” he’d said. “It’s late. You girls shouldn’t be out there alone anyway.”
And so they’d waited, in plain view of the two behind the counter. When Grace had asked what was going on, Jessie had said the hair on the back of her neck stood up when they passed the guys standing by the vending machine. Turns out Jessie had been right to be cautious. The following day the paper reported an assault on a young woman not two blocks from the station. The description of her attackers matched the two men they’d seen. It had been a skin-crawling experience.
Grace headed outside to catch a cab. With the delay, she’d barely have enough time to check in at her hotel and get to the senator’s office. The lineup for cabs told her she had even less time, if any. And wouldn’t her luck have it, the couple in front of her decided this was a perfect time to fight over his aunt’s ugly wedding gift. Grace dropped out of the line and decided to hire a car. It might cost her more, but she wouldn’t arrive at her meeting looking like she wanted to put a gun to her head.
The valet flagged a white SUV for her just as a loud metal-cracking bang sounded from behind her. She turned and had to wonder who had pissed on the universe’s cornflakes. One very irate Uber driver got out of his car and started yelling at the cabbie who had smashed his taillight. The newlyweds stopped arguing to watch someone other than themselves go at it. Before this escalated and her headache worsened, Grace backed away, opened the car door, and tossed herself and her overnight bag inside. Her driver tipped his cowboy hat back and turned to face her.