Liliana Valdez had disappeared two months ago, and no one had seen her since.
Alicia picked up the ID tag, still a little damp and gritty with dirt, and ran her fingers over Liliana's name, feeling the same sense of connection she'd felt earlier.
She had a clue to a missing woman. She needed to take it to the police.
Jumping to her feet, she paused, struck by the thought that she might have more than one clue. Retrieving her camera, she took it into the walk-in closet off her bedroom that she'd turned into her personal darkroom.
Unfortunately, as the pictures developed, Alicia's enthusiasm began to fade.
The couple she'd seen by the carousel did not appear in any of the shots. The lightning was spectacular, but it was so close, so bright, it was impossible to see anything but shadows beyond the light, certainly nothing that clearly defined a person, which meant she had no other clue besides the military tag. Still, it was something. Hopefully, it would be enough to help find the missing woman.
Two
It was after nine o'clock when Alicia sat down in a hard chair next to the desk of Detective Ron Kellerman of the Miami-Dade Police Department, Criminal Investigations Unit. The detective was a middle-aged, balding man with a few extra pounds around the gut. He'd been called away from his Friday night plans, and during the past hour he'd asked her many of the same questions two and three times. She was beginning to feel like she was more of a suspect than a witness.
"Let me get this straight," he said. "You were shooting storm photographs when you saw two people fighting by the carousel. Lightning hit the tree next to you and a branch knocked you on the ground. During that time, the couple disappeared. Is that right?"
She sighed. "Yes, yes, yes. How many times are you going to ask me the same questions?"
"As many times as it takes to get every detail correct." He gave her a sharp look. "How's your head?"
"I'm fine. I just want to help find Liliana."
His brows drew together, a speculative look in his eyes. "You say her name as if you know her."
For some odd reason, she felt like she did know Liliana, but she wasn't about to try to explain that odd feeling to this cynical and suspicious police detective. "No, I never heard of her before tonight. I looked her name up on the Internet when I got back from the park. When I realized she was a missing person, I thought I might have found an important clue to her disappearance."
"You said you were in the park between five and six. It's nine. What took you so long to come down here?"
"I wanted to develop the film I'd taken to see if I'd captured the fight. Unfortunately, I had not."
"Did you bring the photographs with you?"
"No. They didn't reveal anything, so I didn't think they were important."
He glanced down at the paper where he'd jotted down notes during their interview. "The man was wearing a hood and the woman had a long, dark coat. Is that correct?"
"I think so." She frowned, wishing she could provide a better description.
"Did you get a feel for size, weight, hair color?"
"The man was taller than the woman by at least six inches. That's all I could see."
"Were there any words spoken between them?"
"Not that I could hear."
"Did they see you?"
She hesitated, surprised by a new question. "I don’t think so." Worry followed her answer. Had they seen her? She really didn't know what had happened in those few minutes when she'd been knocked off her feet. "Do you have any suspects? Can you tell me what's going on with the investigation?"
"I'm afraid I can't disclose details of an ongoing investigation. Thanks for coming in. We'll take it from here."
She frowned, wanting a lot more information than he was willing to give her. "Do you think the tag will help you?"
"I hope so. It's the first clue we've had in two months. We'll get a search party out to the park as soon as we can." He rose to his feet. "Have you spoken to anyone else about the tag or what you saw in the park?"
"No," she said, standing up.
"Not anyone at the Chronicle?"
"No. Why?"
"I'd like to release the information to the press without using your name—for your own protection."
A chill ran down her spine at his words. "Am I in danger?"
"I don't think so, but we don't know who we're dealing with, and one woman has already disappeared." He handed her his card. "Call me if you remember anything, or if you have any concerns."
"Thanks. You know, you're scaring me a little."
"Better to be scared and more cautious is what I always tell my daughters."
It's what her mother had always told her, but she'd never listened. Like her dad, she had a tendency to be more courageous and less careful than she should be, more determined to live her life than to protect her life. Maybe she should think about changing that...
* * *
The sixteenth floor of a building under construction was a dangerous place to be at night, especially when there were no walls, no windows and a storm with high winds and rain blowing across downtown Miami, but Michael Cordero walked off the elevator of what would one day be the Barkley Center Office Building with not a thought to the potential hazards.
As a project manager for Jansen Real Estate Developments, he'd become accustomed to walking through tall buildings in every stage of their development, and many of those buildings soared high into the sky. His grandfather William Jansen had built a company as big and as huge as his dreams, and his properties always reflected that same sense of grandeur.
The Barkley Building, with its decorative scalloped balconies and floor-to-ceiling windows, would be the cornerstone of a new outdoor mall that would encompass three city blocks and would eventually house a luxury hotel, convention space, upscale condos, restaurants, and retailers, all within view of the Atlantic Ocean. It would take two years to finish, but it would change the city of Miami forever.
Miami. He sighed as he looked out at the city where he'd been born, the city where he'd gotten into trouble—not once, but twice.
He should have known better than to come back. But it had been eight years since he'd been home for more than a weekend, so when the project had come up, he'd decided to take over the management for at least the first phase of the project. His grandfather had told him it was a bad idea. He'd said you can't go home again, and even if you can, you shouldn't.
He really should have listened to his grandfather, because three weeks after he'd arrived, all hell had broken loose. Not with the project. The construction of phase one was on budget and on time. His professional life was in sync, but his personal life was a mess.
All because of Liliana.
A gust of wind sent a chill down his spine. He'd felt restless all day, and the storm that had just ripped through the city had felt like an extension of his unsettled emotions.
During the daytime, he could work his thoughts away, but at night they always came back. With those thoughts came the guilt, the vicious circle of unanswered questions.
He'd tried to exercise his thoughts away, but the five-mile run he'd taken in the wind and the rain had done little to ease his tension, so he'd come here—to this tall, half-finished building that he hoped would open up his mind and ease his tension.
Drawing in several long, deep breaths, he tried to get Liliana out of his mind, but since she'd disappeared, her image seemed to permanently reside there. Every time he saw her in his head, her dark brown eyes pleaded with him to find her, to save her. But he didn't know where the hell she was.
He hadn't actually seen her in person in eight years—since that one and only weekend trip home after his graduation from NYU. They'd texted and emailed since then, but not on a regular basis. Their childhood friendship had been left behind a very long time ago. Which was why it was so strange that she'd sent him a dozen texts the day she'd disappeared, telling him that she needed to see him, and he needed to say yes.
&n
bsp; He had said yes, but he'd been late getting to the restaurant—twenty minutes late. In that time, Liliana had gotten out of her car in the parking lot of his father's restaurant and vanished.
The police had been all over him after her disappearance, asking him dozens of times about the nature of their relationship, what she wanted to talk to him about, why she'd been so determined to see him, why he'd been late—everything. He'd had no answers that satisfied the police or even himself. He didn't know why Liliana had asked to see him after so many years apart, why her texts had felt urgent and important.
He was thirty years old now, and Liliana was twenty-eight. A lifetime had passed since they'd run in and out of each other's houses in the neighborhood known as Little Havana. He'd left Miami when he was fifteen and Liliana had joined the Navy after high school so she could get a college education and eventually a law degree. Their lives had gone in completely different directions.
He didn't want to lose hope, but it had been two months, and the trail had been cold from the start, except for the trail that led to him. That was one the police kept going down. But no matter how many times they questioned him, his story wouldn't change, because there was no story, only the truth.
A sudden clanging of the elevator brought his head around, and he was startled to see a uniformed police officer step out. His tension dissipated as the officer walked forward, the flashlight from his phone illuminating his features.
"Diego," he murmured, seeing the familiar brown eyes of one of the few friends he had left in Miami.
He and Diego had run with the same bad crowd in middle school and gotten into a lot of trouble together. Michael had been forced to change his life when his grandfather had yanked him out of Miami and sent him to boarding school.
Diego had straightened out his life by becoming a police officer.
While Michael appreciated that Diego was now on the right side of the law, Diego's job was starting to put a dent in their renewed friendship.
Diego stopped a few feet away from him. He stood about five foot ten, and had a square, stocky build that had made him a really good linebacker back in the day.
"What are you doing here, Diego?"
"I was going to ask you the same question. I stopped by your apartment and your office. I should have figured you'd be up here. You always did like to get—high." He laughed at his own joke. "I'm talking about your love of heights, of course."
"Of course," he said dryly. "Why are you looking for me?"
At his question, the humor in Diego's eyes vanished. "I need to ask you a question. Where were you earlier tonight?"
His gut tightened. "Are you asking as a cop or as a friend?"
"Both."
"Something has happened." He saw the truth in Diego's eyes. "What?"
"Liliana's military ID tag was found."
His heart thudded against his chest. "Where?"
"First, you need to tell me where you were tonight, why you're soaking wet." Diego's gaze ran up and down his wet clothes.
"I went for a run after work. It's been raining."
"What time did you leave your office?"
"Around four. We closed up early because of the storm. I did some work at home, then went out when the weather improved."
"Anyone see you on your run or at your apartment complex?"
Every question made his nerves tighten. "I saw my neighbor in the elevator, Mrs. Spidowski from 12B. You can talk to her if you want. Now are you going to tell me where Liliana's ID was found?"
"Virginia Key Park."
He was more than a little surprised with Diego's answer. "That's nowhere close to any place we've been looking."
"I know. A woman came down to the station tonight. She told Detective Kellerman that she'd seen a man and a woman struggling by the carousel. When she went to investigate, she found the military tag with Liliana's name on it."
Adrenaline and hope shot through his system at Diego's words. "So Liliana is alive?"
"Unfortunately, the witness didn't get a good look at the woman. To make matters worse, she somehow got injured in the park and has a significant bump on her head. Kellerman isn't entirely convinced the witness saw anything more than shadows in the wind, but she did bring in the tag. That part is for sure." Diego sighed. "You know what I'm going to ask next—where did you run?"
"Nowhere near the park." He ran a hand through his wet hair, unable to believe that he was still a suspect. "If your department keeps looking at me, you're never going to find Liliana, because I didn't take her, and I don't know where she is."
"I believe you, Michael, but I know you. The detectives don't. And you were the last person to speak to Liliana."
"I didn't speak to her. We texted. So what happens next? Should I expect a visit from Kellerman?"
"Probably. He already spoke to the Valdez family, and he's notified the press of the new development. He wants to throw a wide net and see if anyone near the park today might have seen Liliana."
"I want to go to the park."
"So do I. Unfortunately, the causeway is closed for several more hours, but police on the island have already gone through the park. They didn't find anyone. We'll send out more officers and search dogs in the morning. I expect the family will be out there as well."
"God, I hope she's alive," he said, feeling a tiny seed of hope.
"Me, too." Diego paused. "You know I'm just trying to be a good friend and a good cop, Michael."
"Where I'm concerned, I'm not sure you can be both, but I appreciate the effort. You're one of the few people willing to give me the benefit of the doubt."
"A lot of people believe in you."
"You don't have to bullshit me, Diego. We both know that I'm the only suspect."
"Person of interest."
Michael shrugged. "Call it what you want."
"So how are things going around here? It looks like you're making progress."
"First phase should be done by Christmas."
"When does the next phase begin?"
"Sometime in January. That part of the project will run about eighteen months."
"You're going to be here awhile."
"I'm not planning on staying past Christmas. I need to get back to New York. I don't belong here. I never did. I don't know why I came back."
"You missed me," Diego said with a grin.
"I'd forgotten all about you."
"Ouch."
He smiled. Diego had always had a way of making him laugh, take life a little less seriously.
"How are things going with your dad?" Diego asked.
"Nowhere. Since Liliana disappeared, my dad has been caught in the middle, and let's be honest, he's closer to Liliana's family than he is to me. Hell, Liliana's brother Juan works at my dad's restaurant. He's the son my father never had."
"It will get better. When we find Liliana, things will return to normal."
"I hope so. The tag is the first solid clue we've gotten. I just hope it leads somewhere."
"Me, too. Let me buy you a beer," Diego said.
He lifted an eyebrow. "You buy me a drink, and your cop buddies will be all over your ass."
"No. They'll think I'm playing you for information," Diego said with a wry smile.
Diego was teasing, but for a split second Michael wondered if Diego hadn't been sent to have this conversation as a friend.
"I'll pass on the beer tonight. Another time. Let's get out of here." The sky opened up with torrential rain as they ran to the elevator. The storm definitely wasn't over yet.
Three
Alicia returned home from the police station a little after ten. Since she'd missed dinner, she made tea and toast and sat down at the kitchen table to eat. Turning on her computer, she opened the search engine. She wanted to know more about the case she'd stumbled into and if the police weren't willing to give her more information, she'd find it for herself.
She'd only read through the first two articles on the subject earlier. Now, she int
ended to see what the other news reports had to say. There had definitely been quite a bit of coverage.
Liliana Valdez had been born in Miami, the second oldest of four children. Her father was a teacher; her mother was a homemaker. The Valdez family was loved and respected in their community, and they'd received an outpouring of support with hundreds of people showing up to search the area where Liliana had last been seen—the parking lot of a restaurant in Little Havana.
Over the weeks, the search had spread across Miami and reached other more remote parts of Florida, but nothing had come from any of the tips, and the trail had quickly gone cold. Part of the problem lay in the fact that while Liliana had grown up in Miami, she'd been living in Corpus Christi, Texas for the last three years.
At the mention of Corpus Christi, Alicia's spine straightened and a tingle shot through her body. Her family had moved to Corpus Christi when she was twelve years old. She'd left Texas four years ago, which was a year before Liliana moved there, but it was still another odd connection between them.
Accompanying that article was a recent photograph of Liliana in military attire, her black hair pulled back in a bun. She was a beautiful woman with strong cheekbones and serious brown eyes.
As Alicia stared into Liliana's eyes, she felt like the woman was sending her a plea to help find her. That was silly, of course, but Alicia couldn't shake the feeling that her part in this was not over yet. She needed to help, but how?
Reading through several more articles, she began to realize that there might not be any more information to find.
Liliana had come back to town for her sister's wedding. She'd been in Miami three days before she vanished. Her job, her friends, her life were in a state thousands of miles away.
There was only one person of interest in the case, an old friend of Liliana's by the name of Michael Cordero. The news articles stressed that the young, successful, wealthy real-estate developer was only being questioned because he'd had recent contact with Liliana, but it was clear in the subtext that he was under suspicion, despite the fact that he'd put up a $25,000 reward for information leading to Liliana's whereabouts.
Beautiful Storm (Lightning Strikes Book 1) Page 2