Cold Death

by Mary Stone

  As she recounted the early crimes he’d put her up to, her throat clogged. She’d never even had a chance.

  Another hand curled around Katarina’s shoulder, but this time when she glanced up, it was Ellie’s face that hovered over her. Their eyes connected and understanding flashed between them. For the first time, Katarina wished things could have been different between them and wondered if, in another life, with different pasts, the two of them could have become friends rather than enemies.

  The sensation was fleeting, slipping away in the blink of an eye as Ellie stepped back.

  “There was this one kidnapping victim I handled, back when I was just starting out as a beat cop. She was a little girl not much older than Bethany, who’d been snatched by a friend of the family. A mother whose own child had just died.” Ellie gripped the back of an empty chair, her voice soft as she told the story. “The little girl felt scared and sad about being taken away from her family and angry at the family friend for stealing her, and also guilty. There was even a part of her that felt bad for the woman who snatched her because of the daughter who’d died.”

  Against her will, Katarina was pulled into the story. “What happened to her?”

  “Eventually, all those emotions proved too much for the little girl to take, made her feel so helpless that she ended up shutting down and going completely numb. As a survival mechanism, she went on autopilot and started to obey her kidnapper and do whatever she was told. Sometimes, that’s what you’re forced to do to stay alive, especially when you’re young. You place your survival in the hands of the exact person who terrifies you.”

  Katarina struggled to connect with the detective’s message but ended up sinking into the chair in frustration. Her body was spent, more wrung out than a wet towel, and her skull throbbed all over. “Is that supposed to make me feel better about what happened to me?”

  Ellie gave a single shake of her head. “No. I told you that story to help you feel better about what’s happening with Bethany.”

  24

  The waitress’s white sneakers squelched on the sticky concrete floor as she sauntered toward two burly men sporting ZZ Top beards and leather biker jackets. Like most dive bars, The Shanty was dark and reeked of stale beer, but the thick roll of cash poking out of the waitress’s black cutoffs suggested the grimy interior didn’t stop the patrons from leaving generous tips.

  She leaned lower than necessary to set pints on the table between the bikers, a move Clay suspected she’d perfected to ensure an impressive amount of cleavage spilled from her skintight tank top. He passed the next few minutes fighting for patience while she tossed her blonde hair and chatted. Finally, after laughing at something the larger of the two bikers said, she patted his shoulder, winked, and strutted up to the small table where Clay and Luke were seated.

  “Well, hello there. Don’t think I’ve seen either of you at The Shanty before. Pretty sure I’d remember a couple of handsome mugs like that. You boys new in town?” She cocked one hip and flashed a dazzling grin.

  Clay returned her smile. “Just visiting. How about you? Are you from around here?”

  “You know it. Spent my whole life within thirty miles of this area, give or take a few. What about you? Where you from?”

  Close up, the waitress appeared older than Clay had originally guessed. Lines bracketed her mouth and fanned out around her eyes, and her thin, painted-on eyebrows were sharply arched, giving her face a perpetually surprised expression. Her skin was that cigar-shade of tan common in aging sun worshippers. “Here and there. Lived in Texas for a stint before moving to Charleston.”

  Luke added nothing to the exchange but absorbed everything with alert ears even though his eyes were firmly on the table.

  “Texas, the state where bigger is better.” In case her verbal flirting wasn’t blatant enough, she winked at Clay. He widened his smile. Best to lower her defenses, let her think she was reeling him in.

  At least now he understood the massive wad of tip money.

  He slid the sketch artist’s portrait of Caraleigh across the table. “I’m hoping you can help us out. Have you seen this girl before?”

  When the waitress dropped her gaze to the sketch, her eyebrows lifted. For a couple of heartbeats, she went still. By the time she handed the picture back to Clay, her expression was wiped clean. “Sorry, never seen her before.”

  Clay worked to keep the skepticism off his face. One of the earliest lessons he’d learned at the FBI Academy was…forget the words, read the body language. And the waitress’s body language said she was lying.

  Luke must have sensed it too, because he bristled and balled his fists.

  “You know, it’s not nice to fib to a federal agent.” Clay pushed the Polaroid of Caraleigh from Bob’s Burger Barn in front of her.

  The waitress huffed at the photo and stuck her jaw out. Her lips thinned, but she didn’t reply.

  That was okay. Clay was happy to do the talking for now. He draped his arm across the back of the chair to show just how little her antics fazed him. “The great thing about local business owners in these small towns is how they run the same places for decades. Like Frank. Funny, I figured his name would be Bob, given it’s Bob’s Burger Barn, but apparently Bob was his great-grandfather.”

  She started when Clay dropped the name. Good. Progress.

  “That’s right, Frank Slater, your old boss at the hamburger joint. Turns out he’s a real talkative fellow. In fact, Frank was more than happy to tell us all about Cara. Why, he even mentioned that he didn’t mind overlooking her lack of government-issued ID because she was such a good kid, if a little on the odd side. Said she was a real hard worker too, but the most interesting part was when he told us that she roomed with another waitress named Lori while the two of them worked together.”

  Clay reclined in his chair with a friendly hat tip and waited. Frank hadn’t been quite as forthcoming from the get-go as Clay had portrayed, but the waitress didn’t need to know that. The older man’s initial reluctance to share that he’d paid Cara under the table made sense since tax avoidance was a federal offense. Once Clay reassured Frank that his inquiry was a labor of love on behalf of family versus a criminal investigation, the man had opened up. Claimed he was a family man himself and wanted to help.

  The waitress stared at the sketch for a long time before her shoulders drooped. “I didn’t do anything wrong. Frank was the one who hired her. All I did was let her crash on my couch. Not like she could get an apartment anywhere without ID.”

  Even though Frank had told them as much, Clay’s heart still leapt when the waitress confirmed the story. That made two people now who’d interacted with Cara after Luke was picked up by the rangers. His worst fear—that she hadn’t survived in the wilderness on her own—was put to rest.

  His sister had found her way down the mountain and back to civilization. Alive and safe. At least for a spell.

  “So, she couch surfed at your place while she waitressed at Bob’s Burger Barn. How long did that arrangement last?”

  Lori pulled a surly face. “Not very long. She was weird, so she never settled in with the rest of us all that well.”

  Out of the corner of his eye, Clay caught Luke’s glare. He squeezed the other man’s shoulder again. A reminder to keep his cool.

  Now, to take his own advice. The waitress’s callous, offhand remark about Caraleigh was ruffling his feathers too. “When you say weird, what do you mean by that?”

  The waitress sighed and cast a glance over her shoulder, like she hoped someone behind the bar might rescue her. “Just, she got upset over stupid stuff. Like when the music got too loud, or if guys tried to hit on her.” She rolled her eyes. “What kind of nineteen-year-old girl doesn’t like music and men? I mean, unless she was into chicks or something, but she never gave me that vibe.”

  Clay bit back a sharp reply and gave the waitress a chance to elaborate. Easy, you need her to open up, and jumping in to defend Caraleigh will do the opposi
te. Pretend this is like any other investigation, and you’re asking about a stranger.

  The problem was, his heart knew better.

  When the waitress didn’t offer any additional explanation, he prodded. “Let me make sure I’ve got this right. The only reason Caraleigh moved out is because you didn’t see eye to eye on musical tastes and flirting?”

  The waitress hooked her thumbs into her pockets and adopted a belligerent pose. “That, and a bunch of other little things. It all just added up until we had a big blowout. I just couldn’t deal with all of her nitpicky bullshit demands anymore, so I told her she needed to find a new place to crash.” She shrugged. “After that night, she never showed up at work again.”

  Clay’s temper flared. Training took over, and he turned his focus inward and worked on controlling his breathing. Act professionally. Professionals don’t take asshole witnesses personally.

  His inhalation rasped in his ears while his heart disagreed.

  Screw professional. This jerk kicked Caraleigh to the streets.

  With his own inner debate raging, Clay forgot all about Luke until his chair screeched back. Cheeks flushed, Luke sprang to his feet and planted them wide, his entire stance combative. “It’s okay not to like the same things as other people! Everyone is different! Why did you have to kick her out? Why?”

  Oh boy.

  Clay winced at Luke’s volume. Heads turned, both drinkers and staff alike. Clay jumped up and clapped a soothing hand on Luke’s shoulder. Luke jerked away like the touch burned. His hands balled into fists, and his entire face was now a mottled, angry red.

  The waitress sidled back a step.

  Clay scooted between Luke and the woman. Wouldn’t be the first time he’d used his body as a buffer. “Easy, buddy. I know this is upsetting but yelling at the waitress won’t bring Caraleigh back.”

  His attempt at damage control came too late. A square-shouldered bartender with close-cropped hair and a goatee was already striding up. He folded his arms, causing a pair of brawny, tattooed biceps to bulge from beneath the sleeves of a black t-shirt. “Everything okay over here?”

  He directed the question at the waitress.

  She flashed him a grateful smile. “Thanks, Jack, I’m good. I think they were just leaving.”

  Jack grunted before studying Clay and Luke through narrowed eyes. “You heard her. It’s time for you two to head toward that door.”

  Clay lifted his hands, palms out. “Don’t worry, we’re leaving now.”

  For a tense moment, Luke planted his feet and acted like he’d refuse to budge.

  “Come on, Luke. If we want to find Caraleigh, we need to leave.”

  The other man flinched when Clay grabbed his forearm but didn’t resist being led across the sticky floor. More heads turned, briefly tracking their progress toward the exit before returning to their booze. This likely wasn’t the first time they’d watched patrons get ejected from this particular dive, and he doubted it would be the last.

  “You know, it’s not my fault Cara was a weirdo!”

  The waitress’s parting shot caught them right at the door. Clay stiffened but didn’t deviate from the goal. His main concern was getting Luke outside before he melted down or the bartender called the cops.

  He ushered Luke through the exit, welcoming the relief that flooded his body when the door clicked shut behind them. The fresh, chilled air was soothing after the fermented stench of the bar. He stayed close to Luke, who was stomping on the asphalt and flapping his hands.

  “It’s not okay! It’s not okay!” The other man repeated the same accusation as he stormed around in tight circles, his face scrunched up like he was close to tears.

  Watching him vent his frustration in the parking lot set off that familiar ping in Clay’s gut again. He’d witnessed Caraleigh go through similar meltdowns when she was younger. Just like with Luke, the trigger was usually sensory overload or when her feelings grew too big to handle.

  “I can see that you’re upset, Luke, and I understand. What the waitress told us was really upsetting, wasn’t it?” Clay vocalized the question in a calm, soothing voice.

  When Luke didn’t respond the first time, he repeated himself. He remembered times with Caraleigh when he’d needed to repeat himself five or even six times before she was calm enough to focus. No guarantees that he’d be able to get through to Luke at all, but he figured a little validation and empathy couldn’t hurt.

  “Yes! It wasn’t okay.”

  Progress. Luke was still stomping and flapping, but at least he’d responded.

  A man exited his car and cut across the parking lot, giving them a wide berth. Clay met his wide-eyed gaze without a hint of embarrassment. The stranger shook his head in disgust before disappearing inside.

  Clay flipped him the bird before turning back to Luke. Same shit used to happen with his sister all the time. Let them judge. The only thing he cared about was making sure Luke was okay. “Trust me, I get it. I was hoping the waitress would have more information, so I’m really disappointed too, and sad for Caraleigh. I keep thinking of how lonely she must have felt, being all on her own and then getting kicked out of the apartment like that.”

  After a few seconds, the stomping slowed. “Really lonely and scared. I’m scared.” Luke shivered and flapped his hands harder.

  “Scared for Caraleigh?”

  Luke stood still long enough to nod, his expression solemn. “Yes. I’ve heard that bad things can happen to people who live outside because they don’t have anywhere indoors to stay. Especially young people. I don’t want bad things to have happened to Caraleigh.”

  “I hear you. I don’t want bad things to have happened to Caraleigh, either. But as of now, we have no reason to believe that they did, okay?”

  Luke’s chin quivered. “But if bad things happened to her, it’s my fault. I shouldn’t have let the rangers take me away. I left her all alone.”

  Clay’s heart broke at the anguish reflected in Luke’s face. He could relate.

  He’d tortured himself with those same guilty lies too many times to count.

  “You were just a kid, Luke. You didn’t fall and break your arm on purpose, and you didn’t have a choice when the rangers took you away. Please believe me when I say it’s not your fault.”

  Now, if only Clay would take his own advice to heart.

  Luke’s throat bobbed as he swallowed hard. “Do…do you think we’re going to find her?”

  The younger man trembled under the night sky, scared and hopeful and looking to Clay for reassurance. More than anything, Clay wanted to wrap his arms around Luke and hold him close. The exact way he’d hugged Caraleigh when she was on the verge of tears.

  His experience with his sister also taught him that unsolicited touch could make things worse, though, so Clay opened his arms and let Luke decide.

  Luke’s face crumpled as he surged forward, slamming into Clay’s chest with enough force to rock him back on his heels. Unashamed, his throat thickened as he stood in the parking lot, embracing the other man while gazing at the dim outline of the mountains in the distance.

  Hope stirred in his chest. If Caraleigh had survived those mountains, she could survive anything.

  “Yes, I think we can find her. One thing is sure, I know we’re damned well going to try.”

  25

  “Now, go ahead. Hop into bed.”

  Bethany followed my instructions without complaint, climbing into bed with the listless energy of a worn-out, one-hundred-year-old woman. Along with the wan complexion, the purple half-moons beneath her eyes, sharp cheekbones, and waiflike frame reminded me of one of those pictures of starving children that good Samaritans used to guilt people into monthly donations.

  The only thing she lacked to pose as a poster child for one of those campaigns was the hollow-eyed, beaten stare. Even now, Katarina’s daughter overcame her weakened, calorie-deficient state long enough to glare defiance at me from the pillow.

  Pride curved
my lips as I gazed into that tenacious little face. Over the course of my life so far, I’d experienced the pleasure of knowing several strong-willed women. Bethany topped that impressive list. The eight-year-old was demonstrating herself to be more stubborn than Letitia, Morrigan, or her disappointment of a mother. Pure, brazen fire crackled within the depths of that young body and mind.

  The flames shined bright in her eyes. Dimming such a bright flame as I wore her down into submission would prove exquisitely rewarding.

  Delicious warmth coiled in my gut at the prospect of her inevitable defeat. Easy victories were hollow and unworthy of my efforts, but I did so enjoy a good challenge.

  The mattress sank when I perched on the edge. Bethany scrabbled to the far side of the bed. “You did quite well with your training today. I’m very proud of you. I appreciate that all of this must be very confusing. I merely want the best for you, my sweet girl. The reason I push so hard is because I can sense how very special you are. There’s so much potential in you, even more than I saw in your mother when she was around your age.”

  That remark grabbed her attention. She peered at me from beneath her lashes, chewing on her inner cheek as if debating whether or not to engage. Curiosity won out. “You knew my mama back then?”

  “I did indeed. She looked a lot like you.” I allowed a benevolent smile to soften my face.

  A brief hesitation. “Was she…was Mama brave when she was a little girl?”

  Aha. As I watched her bony fingers pluck at the blanket, satisfaction unfurled inside me like a cat sunning itself on a warm deck. To her daughter’s naive young mind, Katarina’s brash courage was aspirational. Precisely the tool I needed to facilitate winning her trust. “Your mama was quite brave, yes. But here’s a little secret between you and me.” I lowered my voice and leaned in, delighted when she didn’t shrink away. “I think if we work together, you’ll turn out to be so much braver and stronger than even your mama was. But we must never tell her that. Katarina was always very competitive and has a tendency to get upset if she believes someone is outdoing her.”