The last time he was inside Alvarez’s office, he quit the force. Getting involved with Marissa while working Brooke’s case had crossed an ethical boundary and left him with two choices: stay on the force and be taken off the case, or join the foundation and find Brooke.
He made his choice.
Brad stuck his hand out, and a broad smile crossed the Lieutenant’s face.
“Damned good to see you, Seth. What brings you down here?”
“You know, just helping out.” Seth glanced back at Linda, who answered with an ironic lift of her eyebrows.
“Living the good life in the private sector?”
“For now.”
Seth’s former boss heartily clapped him on the shoulder like they were old friends. He wasn’t expecting this kind of welcome.
“Good. If that changes, let me know. I’ve got to run to a meeting, but it was good seeing you.”
Mulling over the open statement, Seth watched Alvarez leave.
“What do you think he meant by that?” he asked Garcia.
She shrugged. “Damned if I know.”
Chapter 5
Vicky Kincaid’s working-class neighborhood was a lot like Marissa’s. Older bungalows built close together crowded the block, separated by rusted chain-link fences. Striding up the walkway in the grainy light, the neighborhood looked as beaten down and dreary as she felt.
Evan wanted her to talk to the missing girl’s family, and she knew why. The one special skill that she brought to this job was the shared experience of having her own child go missing.
Everyone says they’re sorry. Everyone asks if there is something they can do to help, but no one can help. No one understands how waking up every morning to the reality of a missing child destroys you. You pray the phone will ring and the nightmare will end. Every time the phone does ring, you dread that you will get news that will change your life forever.
If not for the Holt Foundation and Seth, Brooke might never have been found. Maybe Seth could find Becky Kincaid too.
She clung to that hope as she climbed the stairs to the small, white bungalow. Although the house was in need of a coat of paint, the yard was well maintained. A red wagon and a plastic tricycle were stacked neatly to the side of the door. The small porch sheltered her from the drizzle as Marissa rang the doorbell.
The shrill bark of small dogs pierced the silence. The woman who opened the door was a few inches taller than Marissa. Her brown hair was pulled back into a messy ponytail. Her eyes, red and puffy, were underlined by the dark circles carved into her pale skin. The woman didn’t try to mask her grief beneath a fresh coat of makeup. It was there as plain as day for all the world to see.
“Mrs. Kincaid?”
“Yes.” She did not smile. Stress was visible in the deep lines etched into her forehead.
“I’m Marissa Rooney from the Holt Foundation.”
“Who’s that?” a male voice boomed down the hallway.
A man much older than Becky’s mother filled the doorway. A walrus mustache sprouted beneath his fleshy nose. He tugged the frayed hem of his NASCAR T-shirt over the waist of his sagging jeans. With a pointed look, he ignored Marissa’s hand and she let it fall to her side.
“I’m from the Holt Foundation,” she repeated. “I was wondering if I could talk to you about Becky.”
“Are you some kind of reporter?” the man asked with narrowed eyes. “We don’t need any more people sticking their noses into our business.”
“That’s not at all why I’m here. I’d like to help.”
“Help?”
“Yes. If I could come inside for a few minutes, I’ll explain.”
Vicky frowned like she was trying to decide the right thing to do. The man behind her barreled ahead.
“How do I know you’re not here to dig up dirt? It doesn’t matter who she slept with. She’s missing. That’s all anyone needs to know.”
A missing girl was news for a day. Maybe two. Then the news cycle moved on to something else unless there was a salacious angle to the case that would keep the public interested—Marissa knew all too well. She’d fended off her share of offensive questions when Brooke was missing. If Elizabeth Holt hadn’t linked Brooke’s case with the disappearance of another college girl, the news coverage would have died. A story with multiple victims had legs.
Marissa pulled a business card out of her wallet and handed it to the man. His lips moved as he read the silver text. She met Vicky’s worried gaze.
“There aren’t many people who understand what you’re going through right now, but believe me when I say, I’m one of them. My own daughter Brooke went missing . . .”
A spark of recognition flashed in the woman’s bloodshot eyes.
“Was she the girl they found locked in the cabin in Carnation?”
“She was.”
“How do you know she’s not lying? Ten to one, she’s a reporter,” the old man said. “They’ve been as thick as flies on—”
“Dad,” Vicky said, cutting him off. She stood back and held the door open for Marissa. The dogs followed Vicky down the short hallway into a small living room. She gestured to a chair in the corner.
Toys were stacked along the wall. DVDs of children’s movies were piled on the entertainment center’s shelves. A young boy stood just outside the doorway to the living room. He looked about ten years old. Vicky waved to him. He slipped into the room and took a seat beside her.
“This is my foster son, Darnell,” Vicky said.
“Hi,” Marissa said. The slender boy with dark skin and wary eyes did not return her greeting but inched closer to Vicky’s side. The dogs, a Pomeranian and a terrier, sat guard at her feet, the sharp tips of their small teeth exposed.
“You’ll excuse the mess. I run a home daycare. We’re closed, well, with everything going on . . .” Vicky drifted off. She rested her cheek on the boy’s head as her eyes welled with tears. The dogs looked up at her as if sensing their mistress’s distress.
“Can’t have eight brats running around here when your own kid is missing,” Vicky’s dad said from the doorway.
“Of course. I’m so sorry you’re going through this. You must be frantic with worry.”
Vicky nodded as she blinked back tears. Marissa wanted to hug this woman and tell her things were going to be okay, but she knew false promises wouldn’t help. Only actions would bring comfort—like finding her daughter.
“Becky and I . . . when she told us she was pregnant, we had a fight. I told her that boy would never support her. I wanted her to consider an abortion, or put the baby up for adoption. Having a kid is hard and expensive. I know. I deal with kids all day long. Becky got mad. Told me I was wrong about the boy, the baby. Everything.” Vicky wiped her eyes, her voice quavering. “I shouldn’t have said that. Anyway, we haven’t talked in months. Now that she’s missing—well, if we hadn’t fought, she wouldn’t have left and . . .”
Marissa placed her hand over Vicky’s. “You can’t blame yourself. You can’t protect your kids from everything no matter how much you may want to.”
Vicky fell silent. She rocked back and forth on the couch. Darnell wiggled beside her.
“You said you could help. How?” Vicky’s father asked, arms crossed, and glaring at her.
Marissa froze. She should have expected the question. She should have prepared what she was going to say, thought out the options the foundation could offer. Instead, she’d shown up on the poor woman’s doorstep like an idiot. Unprepared.
“Dad,” Vicky admonished.
“It’s okay,” Marissa said, thinking quickly to fill the gap. “We’re investigating Becky’s case.”
“Are you cops?” Vicky’s father asked.
“No.”
“Then what can you do that the cops aren’t doing?”
“The police are zeroed in on her boyfriend as the main suspect, but we’re looking at all aspects of the case.”
Vicky wrapped her arm around Darnell and hugged him
close. “You . . . you think the police aren’t doing a good job?”
“No.” Marissa cringed. She was screwing up. Everything she said was wrong. Before she could elaborate, Vicky’s father forged ahead.
“That Maddox boy had something to do with it, I’m sure. I told Becky that rich boys like him only wanted one thing from a girl like her. And he got it too, didn’t he? Now she’s stuck with a baby. Her whole life ruined by that boy.”
Vicky shot her father a stern look. “Dad, why don’t you take Darnell into the kitchen and make him some lunch?”
Her father didn’t budge.
“How did Nathan react to the news of the pregnancy?” Marissa asked.
Vicky’s father snorted. “Just like I knew he would. He lied. Said the kid wasn’t his.”
“How do you know he’s lying?”
She felt bad asking, but she had teenagers, and she knew that when push came to shove, even her own kids lied sometimes.
He snapped his venomous gaze to Marissa’s face.
“Because my grandbaby is no whore. She loves him. Damned if I know why. Oh yeah, he’s pretty enough. But pretty don’t get you very far when you’ve got a baby on the way. Just what kind of help are you people offering anyway?”
“Like I said, our investigators are on the case. We have therapists you can talk to. You don’t have to go through this alone.”
“What about money?”
“Money?” Marissa asked, taken aback by the bold request. Money was the last thing to cross her mind when Brooke was missing. “Do you need money?”
“Hell, yeah. She’s had to close her daycare because of this mess.”
Vicky closed her eyes and rubbed her forehead. “Dad, please. The money’s not important.”
“You say that now,” he grumbled. “But mark my words. I’m going to end up footing the bill if this thing goes on too long.”
Vicky ignored him, turning her attention solely on Marissa.
“Do you think your investigators can help find my girl?” The hope in her eyes was heartbreaking. Marissa remembered all too well how desperate she felt for any break in the case.
“They helped me find my daughter. Trust me, Mrs. Kincaid, we’ve got our best people on it.”
“What’s in it for you?” Vicky’s father asked Marissa.
She forced a smile. “I’m sorry. I never got your name.”
“Wayne Tully.”
“We’re a nonprofit foundation, Mr. Tully. Our mission is to help the victims of violence and their families in the ways I mentioned.”
“Thank you,” Vicky said under her breath.
Wayne folded his arms across his Jabba-the-Hutt belly and sank back into the couch with a stony expression.
“So Becky had her own place?” Marissa asked. Vicky nodded.
“She moved out after we had the fight and is living in a basement apartment off Grady Way.”
“What did she tell you about the baby’s father?”
“Nathan?” Vicky paused, blew out a sigh. “Well, she talked about him a lot, but we never did meet him. Unfortunately, Becky’s the kind of girl who falls hard.”
“He thinks he’s too good for the likes of us,” Tully said.
Vicky didn’t comment. She looked down at her foster son and patted him on the back.
“Darnell, honey, why don’t you go into the kitchen and get something to eat. Dad, could you help?”
Reluctantly, Wayne grunted. He worked his bulk off the couch and left the room. Darnell followed along.
Stripped free of having to put up a pretense of strength for Darnell and her father, Vicky sank back into the couch and covered her face with her hands.
“I’m sorry. I don’t know how to get through the day without breaking.”
“Don’t apologize. Let yourself feel whatever it is you’re feeling. Burying your emotions doesn’t work. I’ve tried. Do you have anyone to talk to?”
Vicky dabbed her eyes and shook her head.
“I have someone you should meet. Dr. Frank. She’s the best. She’s helping my daughter cope. I’m sure she can help you. You have my card. You can call me anytime you need to talk. I’ve been in the same place you are. You’re not alone. We’re right here with you, and our team is doing everything we can to find your daughter,” Marissa said.
“Thank you.”
Vicky blew her nose, and Marissa averted her gaze. She knew what it was like to have everyone looking at you, judging your every action. Were you crying enough, or too much? People based their opinions on how they thought they would react if they were in your shoes. As if they could begin to comprehend how you were feeling.
“Do you think we could look around Becky’s apartment?” Marissa asked gently.
It was as good a place to start as any. At the very least, they would learn more about Becky by seeing where she lived, and with any luck, Seth might spot something the police overlooked. She knew from personal experience that Becky’s fate might rely on Seth’s sharp mind.
“The police have already been through it.”
“Just the same, would you mind if we had a look?”
“I could call the landlord to ask permission. He’s pretty upset about her disappearance. I’m sure if I asked, he would let you in.”
While Vicky was on the phone with the landlord, Marissa called Seth. He said he needed to call Detective Garcia and get her permission to enter Becky’s place. Garcia gave Seth the green light, and they agreed to meet an hour later at the rundown apartment building where Becky lived.
Marissa wished there was something she could say to erase the fear from Vicky’s eyes, but standing on the front steps of the small house, she knew that words were not enough. She reached out and hugged the woman. Vicky squeezed her tight, like Marissa was a lifeline and she didn’t want to let go. Reluctantly, Marissa pulled away.
“We’ll do everything we can,” she said.
Vicky nodded. Arms crossed, she stayed outside in the misty rain as Marissa walked to her car.
By the time Marissa arrived at Becky’s apartment, the superintendent, an older man with gray hair and Coke-bottle glasses, was already waiting. He thumbed through a jumble of keys on a ring and let them inside.
The place was a dive. Marissa had lived in her share of them. Furnished with Ikea hand-me-downs, Becky had done her best to spruce the place up. The effect was heartbreaking.
Second-hand baby things were stacked on a stroller and shoved in a corner by the changing table. There were small little stacks of carefully folded infant clothes beside a case of newborn Pampers. Marissa ran her hand along the soft baby blanket in the bassinette and thought about all the things Becky had done to prepare for this child.
“Looks like she has just about everything she needs,” Marissa said.
Seth wandered around the living room, taking note of his surroundings. He checked the phone for recent calls. Opened drawers. Anything that might provide a clue to who had taken Becky and why.
Looking around the tiny apartment, there was no doubt in Marissa’s mind that this baby was wanted. Like Becky, she had been on her own. Marissa’s mother kicked her out when she’d gotten pregnant at sixteen. She’d moved in with the baby’s father. What a disaster that was. The only two good things she’d ever gotten from her relationship with Jason Parker were her girls, Brooke and Kelly.
She ached with the sadness of it all, the thought of what would happen to this place if Becky was never found.
Seth placed his hand in the center of Marissa’s back.
“You okay?” he asked.
“It hits a little close to home, that’s all,” she admitted, turning away from the bassinette and pulling in a deep steadying breath. “It wasn’t that long ago we were looking for Brooke.”
“I can handle this if you want to go.”
“I’ll stay. The fact that she and Becky were estranged makes this even harder on Vicky.”
“What do you mean?”
Marissa fingered the
edge of a blanket.
“Vicky wanted Becky to get an abortion. They had a fight.”
“People are quick to take the easy way out,” Seth said.
“Easy?” The words struck Marissa hard. “There is nothing easy about deciding to get an abortion, or about raising a baby on your own. That girl has no education, a minimum wage job. How is she supposed to pay for diapers? Formula? Child care?”
“You did it,” he pointed out.
“It was goddamned hard, and I would never want to go through that again.”
“But I’ve seen the kind of mother you are. You could never get rid of a baby because it’s inconvenient.”
Marissa frowned and crossed her arms. It was easy for him to say. It wasn’t his body. He’d never been forced to make those decisions or live with the consequences.
“I would want my girls to have the option of making whatever decision was best for them.”
She could tell by the look on Seth’s face, he had more to say on the subject, but the sound of his cell phone put an end to the discussion.
Seth glanced at the screen before picking up the call. Turning his back, he walked away. “Hi, Maryanne.”
He drifted into the next room, and Marissa watched him go. His voice switched from all business to a softer tone in a way that piqued her curiosity. She didn’t mean to pry but found herself moving closer.
“I’m in the middle of something. Can I call you back?” he said and then ended the call.
“Who is Maryanne?”
“It’s not important,” he said.
It wasn’t an answer. Only jealous girlfriends grilled their boyfriends on mysterious calls, and Marissa had already pried enough. He’d tell her if he wanted to. Marissa resumed her search.
Becky’s apartment had a separate entrance at the rear of the house. Marissa strolled over and tried the door handle. As she expected, it was locked. Peering in through the bedroom door, she watched Seth search the contents of Becky’s bedside table, then her bookcase, looking everywhere for clues with coplike efficiency.
Dark Harvest (A Holt Foundation Story Book 2) Page 4