Made for You

by Cheyenne McCray

  “What’s Stan’s last name?” Reese was good at keeping his expression neutral. “Where can I find him?”

  “Don’t know his last name.” Bill frowned as he thought about Reese’s questions. “But I do know he works part-time at that new sports center on the other side of town.”

  Reese handed Bill a business card. “If you see Darrell or Stan, give me a call.”

  “Sure.” Bill took the card and slipped it into the breast pocket of his coveralls. “I’ll do that.”

  As Reese walked away from the auto shop, he glanced over his shoulder and saw that Bill had turned his back and was talking on a cell phone. Reese reached his car and climbed in, wondering exactly who Bill had just called.

  After Reese reached his car and climbed in, he drove to the opposite side of town to the new sports center. The old batting cages that had been part of an arcade and a hot dog stand weren’t around anymore. The old cages had been there since Reese was a kid, which had been a good long time ago. He’d been there many times in his youth when it had been a local hangout.

  When he reached the entrance to the sports center, he went into the air-conditioned building. It had five indoor batting cages along with a bungee trampoline, a sports simulator, and a concession stand as well as outdoor batting cages. The center had only been around a year and during the summer while the kids were out of school, it was even busier than it was during the rest of the year. The air conditioning had a hand in that.

  Reese knew the owner of the sports complex, Noah Johnson. At the front entrance, Reese saw Noah’s teenage daughter, Wendy.

  “Hi, Detective McBride.” The young woman had a pretty smile, red hair, as well as freckles over the bridge of her nose. “Dad’s not here today.”

  “Hi, Wendy.” Reese returned her smile. “Do you have someone named Stan working here?”

  “He called in sick again today.” She frowned. “He’s been missing a lot of work lately, so between you and me I don’t know if Dad’s going to keep him around much longer.”

  Reese pulled his notebook and pen out of his pocket. “What’s Stan’s last name?”

  “Driscoll.” She looked at her computer screen. “We have his picture on file and I can give you his address if you want it.”

  “Perfect.” Reese flipped open the notebook as she angled her screen so that he could see it. He glanced at the photo and noted the pimply face, Adam’s apple, and shaggy reddish-brown hair. He jotted down the address that he recognized as being in a trailer park on the south side of town.

  Wendy glanced at the door where a couple of teenage boys were coming into the building.

  Reese gave her a smile when she looked back at him. “Thanks, Wendy.”

  “Bye, Detective.” She smiled again and he left and headed out the entrance.

  He walked back to his car, his gut telling him to call John. The name Stan Driscoll sounded familiar.

  “What’s up?” John answered on the second ring.

  Reese climbed into his vehicle. “Tell me who Stan Driscoll is.”

  “We’ve had our eye on him,” John said. “We just got information that leads us to believe he’s gotten himself involved with local drug trafficking.”

  Reese jammed his keys into the ignition and started the car. “He might know where Darrell Taynor is. Petrova’s still out. Would you like to join me in paying Driscoll a visit?”

  “You bet.” John took down the address as Reese read it off to him. “I’ll meet you there,” John said before disconnecting the call.

  Fifteen minutes later, Reese reached the trailer park, found the space number, and parked on the private street, across from the mobile home. He got out of his car and leaned up against it as he waited for John. The mobile home was in poor repair with faded metal siding and weeds sprouting around the yard. A beat-up rusted white Toyota Corolla was parked in the carport. The other homes in the vicinity seemed to be in better condition. Stan’s place looked to be the sore thumb of the neighborhood.

  John pulled up in his police cruiser and parked behind Reese’s car. John was in uniform and when he joined Reese, they both started for the front door. Just as they reached the foot of the driveway, the door opened and a tall, skinny, pimply-faced young man stepped out of the door and closed it behind him. It was the same guy as in the photograph that Wendy had showed him at the sports complex, Stan Driscoll.

  Stan turned, saw Reese and John, and froze. He gave them one terrified look and ran.

  “Oh, hell no,” Reese muttered as he and John took off after the kid.

  John went to the right and Reese to the left as they chased Stan around the mobile homes and through the trailer park. Stan dodged in and around lots and headed for a tall chain link fence that surrounded the trailer park.

  Reese slid across the hood of a Nissan, cutting the distance between him and Stan.

  Stan started climbing up the chain link fence. Reese reached the fence and grabbed one of Stan’s legs. The man was halfway over the fence but Reese jerked him backward. John grabbed Stan’s other leg and together he and Reese pulled Stan to the ground.

  For a moment Stan fought to get away but then the fight left him and he went limp as John cuffed him and dragged him to his feet.

  “I didn’t do it.” Stan’s pimply face was dirty from having landed on the ground face first at the foot of the fence. “I didn’t do nothing.”

  “Well that’s odd.” Reese put his hand on Stan’s shoulder. “Seeing that you just ran and resisted arrest. Now why would you do that if you didn’t do anything?”

  Stan looked down at his feet as John grabbed his upper arm and marched him to the cruiser. John pushed Stan up against the cruiser and emptied his pockets.

  “This’ll get you some time.” John pulled a baggie of a white crystalline substance out of Stan’s pocket.

  “It’s not mine.” Stan looked panicked. “It’s a friend’s.”

  “We’ll have a talk downtown.” Reese slapped Stan on the shoulder. “You’re under arrest for possession of an illegal narcotic and for resisting arrest.”

  Stan hung his head as John read him his rights and pushed him into the back seat of the cruiser.

  Down at the station, Stan had been put into an interrogation room to be questioned. He was handcuffed to the table and didn’t bother looking up when Reese entered the room.

  Reese glanced at the one-way mirror then took a chair and sat in it across from Stan. “Look at me,” Reese said.

  Stan looked up from under lank hair. “I didn’t do nothing.”

  “Let’s start over.” Reese gave Stan a hard look. “You’ve already been busted for possession. Now we talk about murder, kidnapping, and shooting a cop.”

  “All I did was a little coke.” Stan’s eyes widened. “I didn’t kill or kidnap or shoot no one. I don’t even have a gun.”

  “How well do you know Darrell Taynor?” Reese asked.

  Stan had a deer in the headlights look. “Don’t know him.”

  Reese blew out his breath. “We already know that you play cards with him and the boys at the Highlander when you’re flush. So why don’t you start telling the truth. Like where you’ve been helping him hide that little girl.”

  “I don’t know anything about a kid.” Stan licked his lips, looking even more scared than before. “I should get a lawyer.”

  “You’re better off telling me how you know Taynor and where he is now.” Reese gave Stan a hard look. “I’d like to know what we’ll find when we get a warrant to search your place.”

  “Nothing.” The man started shaking and his eyes darted from Reese to the one-way glass and back to Reese. “Listen, I’ll tell you what I know, but you gotta cut me a deal.”

  “First we’ll see what information you can give me.” Reese leaned forward, resting one arm on the table. “Start talking. Now.”

  “Darrell and me—we’ve done a little business.” Stan licked his lips again. “I don’t know if he’s there now, but he has this place
he likes to hang out at.”

  “Where?” Reese’s body tensed.

  Stan was bouncing all over the place. “It’s where Darrell stashes the drugs when the shipments come in from down by the border.” Stan rattled off an address not far from the trailer park Stan lived in. Reese knew Prescott like the back of his hand and knew exactly where the neighborhood was that Stan was talking about. “Is that enough to get me a deal?” Stan asked with a hopeful note in his voice.

  “Not even close.” Reese got to his feet. “Be thinking on what else you’re going to tell me when I get back. And it had better be everything.”

  Stan slumped down in his seat, looking resigned.

  Reese left the interrogation room and shut the door behind him. Stan had broken easier than Reese would have expected.

  Everything was being set into motion even as he came out. John had been watching through the one-way glass and was already mobilizing the police officers to go to the address where Taynor could be hiding out with Belle.

  “Let’s go,” Reese said and headed out the door.

  Reese and his team set up down the street from the address Stan had given up. Reese and the rest of the raid team strapped on bulletproof vests and prepared to go in.

  When they were ready, Reese led the way. The team surrounded the place and Reese went up the stairs of the small, rundown house.

  He stood at the door, knocked, and called out, “Police. We’re coming in.”

  No answer. Reese nodded to the officers with the battering ram. With a crash they opened the door, almost taking it off its hinges. Reese and his team entered the house, searching and clearing each room.

  Reese’s heart rate picked up as they searched the house and he prayed they’d find Belle here and that she would be alive and well.

  The house was empty. Reese ground his teeth as he stood in the kitchen and pushed his fingers through his hair. He’d hoped like hell that they would find Taynor and Belle.

  “Reese.” John’s voice came from Reese’s left and he turned to see John holding up a dirty pink sock in his gloved hand. “Found this.”

  Reese narrowed his gaze as he looked at the sock. He recognized it as looking like one of the socks that the girl had been wearing the day Taynor abducted her. Reese took an evidence bag out of his pocket, held it open, and John dropped the sock into the bag.

  “Find anything else?” Reese asked.

  John shook his head. “No, but I’ll keep looking.”

  Reese and the team searched the place, including checking the attic. In the attic they found close to a hundred thousand dollars worth of crack cocaine. All over the house they discovered stashes of cash—in shoeboxes in the closet, under a floorboard, in the kitchen in an empty cracker box, and taped to the backs of picture frames.

  “Almost two hundred grand,” John said as officers finished stacking the bills in the center of the living room.

  “If Taynor was here, he must have left in a hurry.” Reese frowned. “I’d doubt he’d leave all of this cash otherwise.” Reese pushed his fingers through his hair again in a frustrated movement. “Who could have warned Taynor that we were coming?” Reese asked his stepbrother.

  “Stan Driscoll never had a chance to.” John shook his head. “Unless Taynor and he had worked something out. Maybe if Driscoll never showed up then Taynor would know he had to leave.”

  “Maybe.” Reese considered it, then remembered Bill Dickey talking on his phone as Reese left the auto shop. “Or he was warned by a friend of his I met with earlier.”

  “Someone else to bring down to the station?” John asked.

  Reese gave a slow nod. “I think it might be a good idea to bring in Bill Dickey.”

  “The owner of Dickey’s Auto Shop?” John asked. “I’ll pick him up.”

  “That’s the one.” Reese headed toward the front door and John fell into step beside him. “I’ll head on over, too,” Reese said.

  “I don’t know where Darrell Taynor and his kid are.” Bill Dickey sat behind the table in the interrogation room, his hands gripped into fists on the tabletop. “I told you I barely know the guy.”

  “You’re up to your neck in Taynor’s and Driscoll’s side business.” Reese leaned up against the corner of the table. “How long have you been dealing dope?”

  “I don’t deal dope.” Something flickered in Dickey’s eyes, telling Reese the man wasn’t being honest about something. “I don’t know what they’ve gotten themselves into, but I don’t care what it is and I don’t have anything to do with it.”

  Reese studied Dickey. “Who did you call when I left this morning? I saw you on the phone.”

  Dickey looked surprised then uncomfortable. “I was talking with my woman.”

  “Is that your wife or girlfriend?” Reese asked.

  “Girlfriend,” Dickey muttered.

  Reese’s jaw tightened. “So you wouldn’t mind if we check phone records to back that up?”

  A droplet of sweat rolled down the side of Dickey’s face. “You’d have to get some kind of warrant and you have nothing on me.”

  “We’re talking about a little girl’s life. You’d be surprised at how fast we can get a warrant.” Reese pinned Dickey with his gaze. “Did you call Darrell Taynor and warn him we were looking for him?”

  More sweat slid from Dickey’s hair and down his temple. “No, damn it. I didn’t call him.”

  Reese watched Dickey squirm. “Maybe it was because you didn’t want us to find the drugs and cash.”

  Dickey shook his head. “No idea what you’re talking about.”

  Reese continued to question Dickey, but the man wouldn’t admit to a damned thing. Frustrated, Reese clenched his jaw. He knew Dickey was hiding something.

  “You’ll go to prison for aiding and abetting if you don’t come clean,” Reese said. “Think about that.”

  Dickey was looking more nervous by the moment, but he stuck to his story. “You can’t keep me. I didn’t do anything.”

  “We can keep you here for twenty-four hours.” Reese started toward the door leading from the interrogation room. He paused and looked back at Dickey. “That will give you some time to think.”

  The man set his jaw and remained mute. Reese held back a growl of frustration and left the room.

  John was waiting for him in the room on the other side of the one-way glass. “He’s lying,” John said.

  Reese gave a nod. “He knows something. I don’t know if it’s related to the girl or to the drugs, but something’s going on. I’m going to figure out exactly what that is.”

  Chapter 6

  Jill Petrova screamed, the sound ripping through the night.

  Heart thundering, Kelley ran into the house she’d grown up in, toward the sound of her mother’s cry. Kelley bolted down the hallway leading to her parents’ bedroom. She clenched her Glock in a tight grip as she raced down the hall as fast as she could.

  The hallway seemed to grow longer as she ran. Her chest ached and her lungs burned from running so long, so fast. She pushed herself harder as she ran farther and farther.

  Jill let out another blood-curdling scream that nearly made Kelley’s heart stop.

  Adrenaline pumped through Kelley’s body. This time she would kill her father before he murdered her mother.

  Just when she thought she’d never get there, Kelley reached the end of the hallway. She raced around the corner, into her parents’ bedroom, and came to a full stop.

  Ice chilled her veins and her mind spun.

  Darrell Taynor, not Isaac Petrova, had his gun to Jill’s head.

  “Don’t hurt my mother,” Kelley tried to shout but she was mute, as if her mouth was covered by duct tape, and she couldn’t get out the words.

  “I’m going to kill her, Detective.” Darrell sneered at Kelley, a look of satisfaction on his face. “There’s nothing you can do about it.”

  Both anger and fear rose inside Kelley. Fear for her mother… Anger that Darrell had his gun to her head
and was going to kill her.

  Kelley’s hands shook as she trained her weapon on Darrell.

  From out of nowhere, ropes snaked around her like possessed vines, pulling her arms behind her back and tying her wrists. Her weapon fell to the floor and hit it with a hard thunk. The ropes squeezed her from her upper arms to her waist, and she almost blacked out from the pain of the rope crushing her wounded shoulder.

  Kelley struggled to get free but the bonds were too tight. Fear for her mother magnified inside her and spun in a vortex of anger. She wanted to kill Darrell and save her mother.

  She tried again to shout but now she was gagged, the rope holding cloth inside her mouth.

  As she fought to get free to save her mother, Isaac Petrova eased from out of the shadows. Kelley stared in horror at the two men. Isaac stepped toward Kelley and he gripped the end of a belt. The buckle thumped on the floor as he dragged it closer to her.

  He was going to whip her with the buckle like he had so many times before.

  Kelley screamed and struggled, her gaze darting from Darrell to her mother to her father.

  “No!” Her scream came out muffled by the gag as she tried to beg Darrell. She didn’t care that Isaac was going to beat her. She just needed to save her mother.

  Isaac raised the belt and swung it at Kelley. Stars burst in her mind as the buckle struck her head and her knees went weak. He swung the belt at her again, the buckle striking her cheek. She felt the skin break open and blood poured down her face from the gash.

  No matter the pain, she stared at Darrell instead of her father. She tried to beg him with her eyes.

  With a smile of pure evil, Darrell watched Kelley as he pulled the trigger.

  Kelley screamed behind her gag again as the sound ricocheted around the room.

  But it was Laura Jones, not Jill Petrova, who collapsed to the floor. A hole gaped in Laura’s temple, a single drop of blood rolling out onto her white skin.

  “Mommy!” Belle ran into the bedroom as she shrieked the word.

  Kelley’s gag was suddenly gone and she too cried out, “Mommy!”