by Blake Pierce
And since she was slightly paranoid that “Ctr.” might somehow be able to tell his e-mail address was being traced, she warned Edgerton that the trace was highly sensitive and not to do anything that might reveal to the subject they were investigating it.
With that done, and after twenty minutes of constantly refreshing her mail, Keri decided her obsession wasn’t constructive and she needed to take a mental break.
Maybe a visit with Ray can de-jangle my nerves.
The idea gave her a warm feeling. She grabbed her stuff and hurried to her car, doing her best to ignore her protesting ribs.
On the drive over, Keri tried to clear her head but it was no good. Her thoughts kept returning to the list and to the man who’d designed it, Jackson Cave.
Part of her wanted to drive to his office right now, arrest him, and sort the rest out later. But after a few deep breaths to clear her head, she remembered why that would be a terrible idea.
First, the list wasn’t actually proof of anything, at least not yet. It was just a series of numbers and letters. To her, it was clear that they represented initials, dates, and contact information. But that might not be clear to everyone, certainly not to a prosecutor.
Beyond that, using the list to try to bust Cave would implicate her as well. She had gotten it by breaking into the private office of an officer of the court. Even if a case could be made against Jackson Cave, she was guaranteeing her own arrest and likely conviction.
But even that would have been worth it if she thought it would help get Evie back. Unfortunately, she doubted it would. The second that Cave’s arrest made the news, the Collector would go to ground and she’d lose the best lead she’d found since her daughter was taken.
Cave was simply a means to an end. And that end was finding the Collector in the hope that he would lead her to Evie. Anything that interfered with that goal was a non-starter. So she’d have to leave Cave be for now.
Keri walked into Ray’s hospital room an hour later to find him napping. She hadn’t spoken to him since calling him late last night on the way to Cave’s office. For all he knew, she might have been in jail for breaking and entering.
She sat quietly in the uncomfortable hard-backed chair in the corner of the room, watching her friend nap, periodically checking her phone for an e-mail reply from the Collector. Something about his slow, rhythmic breathing relaxed her and she felt the anxiety of the day slip away. Even the soreness from her injuries and the ill-advised overnight massage faded.
Is this how I would feel if I lay next to him at night, lulled to sleep by the soothing sound of him?
She stayed like that for a while, just sitting and wondering. Suddenly she heard a clang and startled, realizing she’d drifted off to sleep. A nurse had plopped a tray on the adjustable table connected to the bed and the sound made Ray stir. Keri looked the clock on the wall. It was 12:30 p.m. exactly. She’d been asleep for over a half hour. She checked her e-mail again—nothing.
“Time for lunch, Detective Sands,” the nurse said in an overly chipper voice that made Keri want to slug her. “Do you need some help sitting up?”
“No thanks. I’ve got it, Janet,” he said groggily. He pulled himself upright and saw Keri in the corner for the first time. He smiled at her but didn’t speak until Janet left.
“I’m glad to see you here rather than being asked to help pony up for your bail money,” he said once the door closed, leaving them alone.
“You joke but that was closer to being a reality than I care to think about.”
“So I take it you didn’t turn around and go home like you promised?”
“Actually I had a hankering for a late-night massage and body scrub so I spent the night in Koreatown.”
“I don’t even know where to start with that one,” he said. “Is that a euphemism? Should I ask if you got a happy ending?”
“I really did get a massage,” Keri assured him. “But I also managed to run another errand and you could say that, despite a few uncertain moments, I did get a very happy ending.”
“This conversation is making me a little uncomfortable,” Ray said. “Could you be cryptic in a less creepy way?”
“You started it. But okay. Yes, I made a pit stop and managed to find an item I needed. In fact, I just figured out how to use it.”
Ray’s eyes widened.
“You broke the code?” he mouthed silently.
Keri nodded before adding in a hushed voice.
“I think so.”
“So what happens now?” he whispered.
“Well, it turns out that there are e-mails on this thing. And one of them looks like it belongs to the guy I’ve been looking for. So I reached out.”
“You did what?” Ray demanded, no longer whispering.
“Keep your voice down, Ray. I created an anonymous e-mail account and contacted the guy. I said I needed help with a job.”
“Have you heard back?”
The question caused her to look again. Still no reply.
“Not yet. But I sent it not even two hours ago.”
“So what happens if he gets back to you?” he asked.
“I guess I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it.”
“You can’t go after this guy alone, you know. There’s no telling what he’s capable of.”
“I know that, Raymond,” she said, trying to scold him into submission.
“Don’t act like I’m insulting you. Going after suspects alone is practically a job description for you. Seriously, you won’t make a move without talking to me first, right?”
“Of course not,” she lied.
They sat quietly for a few minutes as Ray picked at his lunch of chicken and rice soup, fruit cocktail, and the saddest side salad Keri had ever seen. After a while, Ray gave up and pushed the tray away.
“How’s the Burlingame case going?” he asked.
“Stalled. All signs point to her having run off. It doesn’t feel right to me but I don’t have anything firm to base that on. We’re waiting for some fingerprints and surveillance camera footage to come back. But it’s not promising.”
“So what are you doing with the downtime? Is the houseboat all packed up?” he asked.
Keri raised her eyebrows quizzically.
“You’re kidding, right? I’ve been working a case. I’m making late night stops to…visit folks. I just took off my shoulder sling yesterday and every time I take a deep breath, it feels like someone’s jabbing a knife in my rib cage.”
“You’re looking for sympathy from me on the walking wounded front?” he asked, disbelieving.
“I’m just saying I haven’t had a lot time to bubble wrap my valuables. Besides, I don’t have a new place yet. So you know, cart before the horse.”
“I’ve been looking for places for you. I think I may have found something.”
“Really? Where?”
“Playa del Rey. Not too far from the station. It’s in the same general area as the houseboat so you could still go to your favorite grocery store. It’s pretty small. And old. And kind of ugly if the photos I saw are accurate. But it’s a two-bedroom.”
“How much is it?” Keri asked warily.
“The rent is reasonable. It’s above a little dive restaurant on Culver, about six blocks from the beach. I know the owner and he’s willing to give you a deal. You should go check it out today, especially since you have a bit of extra time.”
He handed her a sheet of paper with the address.
“That’s not a bad idea. Maybe I’ll head over there now.”
“I think you should. I’ll let Rene know you’re coming.”
Keri stood up, walked over to Ray’s bedside, and put her hand on his arm.
“Thank you,” she said. “You still supposed to get out of here at the end of the week?”
“That’s the hope.”
“Maybe I can drive you home. We could get some coffee and talk about stuff.”
“Stuff?” he asked.
; “Yeah, stuff.”
“I would love to talk about stuff,” he said. “Stuff is one of my favorite topics.”
“Okay,” Keri said, taking her hand off his arm and heading for the door. “That’s about enough of that. I’m going to go check this place out. You take it easy, okay?”
“I will,” he promised, and, shouting after her as she left the room, added, “I’m just going to be here, thinking about stuff.”
She couldn’t fight the grin that forced itself onto her face as she walked down the hall. When she reached the elevator, she checked her phone. The smile immediately disappeared.
The Collector had replied to her e-mail.
CHAPTER TWENTY ONE
Keri tore out of the hospital parking structure without regard for signs, other cars, or even people. Her heart was pumping fast and her hands gripped the steering wheel tight, turning her fingers white.
The Collector, or whoever was behind the e-mail she’d received, had given her only a brief window to get to the location he’d selected. The message had been short and to the point:
1:30 today. 3rd street promenade. santa monica. Just south of arizona and third. metal chair on east side of street next to sculpture. wear red shirt. sit down. wait.
She immediately replied, “Okay.”
The e-mail didn’t give her much time, which was obviously by design. If she’d been downtown or in the San Fernando Valley when she received it, there was no way she could have made it. As it was, the hospital in Beverly Hills wasn’t that far. Still, Keri only had about forty-five minutes to drive to Santa Monica, park, and find someone to sit in the metal chair at the appointed time.
It couldn’t be her, of course. If the Collector saw her, he might recognize her from all those years ago, on that day when he had taken Evie from her. If he got even a hint that the mother of a girl he’d abducted was in the area, he’d be gone and the e-mail address would be blown as a resource. And she couldn’t postpone the meet. Any attempt to change the terms would risk alienating the Collector and that wasn’t a risk she was willing to take.
So she was stuck. She had to find a believable decoy—someone the Collector would see sitting on that metal chair and believe could be a potential client in the market for an abduction.
And she’d have to wing it, selecting her potential decoy based on little more than that he looked the part. This wasn’t how she wanted this operation to proceed. But she wasn’t in charge and she’d just have to adapt as best she could.
As she barreled down Wilshire Boulevard, Keri decided to use the time to try to even up the odds. She called Edgerton to see if he’d made any progress tracing the e-mail address.
“I’m sorry, Keri,” he said. “I keep hitting dead ends. And I’m worried that if I try to force my way in, your subject may get an alert. This guy’s sneaky and I’m worried I may set off an electronic tripwire if I go any further. Who is he anyway?”
“I can’t really get into it right now,” Keri answered, as much to protect Edgerton as to guard her own secrets. “Go ahead and drop it for the time being and we’ll regroup later. Just focus on the Burlingame stuff for now, okay?”
“No problem,” he said.
Keri was about to hang up when she had an idea.
“Hey, Kevin, is Officer Castillo around?” she asked.
“I think she’s off duty today but I can text you her private cell if you want.”
“Do that,” Keri said as she zipped under the 405 Freeway overpass. She was less than fifteen minutes from the Promenade but it was almost 1 p.m. At this rate, she wouldn’t have much time to set things in motion once she got there.
Edgerton’s text came in and Keri punched in Castillo’s phone number.
“Jamie here,” said a cheery voice.
“Officer Castillo, it’s Detective Keri Locke. I’m sorry to bother you on your day off. But I may need to ask a favor.”
“Of course, Detective. What can I do to help?” Castillo responded without a moment’s hesitation.
“Hold on a second,” Keri said.
She looked at the time again—1:02 p.m. Borderline desperate, she grabbed the siren from her passenger seat, turned it on, and put it on her roof. Then she rolled up her window
“Sorry about that,” she continued. “You said you used to work in West LA Division. Does that mean you happen to live in the area?”
“You bet. My commute to the station was less than five minutes.”
“Any chance you’re in the vicinity right now?” Keri asked hopefully.
“I just got out of a movie in Westwood,” Castillo answered happily.
Keri blasted through the intersection at Centinela Avenue, honking at an oblivious pedestrian in the crosswalk.
“Are you carrying your service revolver?” she asked.
There was a brief pause on the other end of the line.
“I am,” Castillo answered, her voice now completely serious.
“Okay, Officer, I’m going to make an unusual request of you. If you decline, no hard feelings. But I could really use a hand and it’s kind of time-sensitive.”
Less than a second passed before she got her answer.
“What do you need?”
“Get to your car and drive to the Third Street Promenade. I’ll explain en route.”
“I’m starting my car now, Detective. Fill me in.”
Keri hesitated for second, aware that opening up like this could put her at risk. But at this point she was out of options. She dove in.
“All right, here’s the short version. You know my daughter was abducted five years ago. I have a lead on a potential suspect. I’m supposed to meet him on the Promenade near the corner of Third and Arizona. He thinks I’m a potential client who wants to pay to have someone abducted.”
Keri was about to cross the intersection at 26th Street when a pickup truck, ignoring her siren, blasted through. She hit her brakes hard, coming within three feet of T-boning the idiot. Rivers of adrenaline shot through her arms and up to her fingertips. All her extremities were tingling.
“Are you okay, Detective Locke?” Castillo yelled over the phone.
“Mostly,” Keri answered. “Where was I?”
“You’re a potential client.”
“Right. So I’m headed there now. Since the guy would recognize me, I have to find someone to serve as my emissary and give this abductor a message. I’m hoping he’ll consider that a sign that his potential client is careful and can be trusted. Does all that make sense?”
“Absolutely,” Castillo said. “So you want me to be the emissary?”
Keri had briefly considered that possibility before she called but had dismissed it as too risky.
“No, I think he’d be more comfortable if the decoy was a guy. I’m going to have to find someone credible when I get down there. I need you for backup. I want you to position yourself on an adjacent roof where you can see everything. If the guy shows up, you can feed me intel from your vantage point. If things go south somehow, I’m not alone trying to take him down.”
She stopped talking and realized Castillo hadn’t said anything in a while. She worried the younger woman was getting cold feet.
“You okay, Jamie?” she asked.
“Yeah. I’m just getting the sense that this isn’t a department-sanctioned stakeout.”
Keri fought the urge to convince the impressionable officer to throw caution to the wind.
“It’s not,” she admitted. “That’s the other thing. This whole plan is a rogue operation. I came by the information about this guy through questionable methods. Lieutenant Hillman would definitely disapprove if he knew. My plan isn’t exactly meticulously planned out. And it’s potentially dangerous. So like I said, no hard feelings if you pass. In fact, I recommend it.”
Keri passed Lincoln Boulevard. She was only minutes from the Promenade now. Biting her lip, she waited for Castillo’s response. The silence seemed to last an eternity. Finally the rookie officer replied.
“Text me when you get down there and let me know exactly where you want me to set up.”
“You sure?” Keri asked, giving her one last out. “I kind of called you because no one who’s been on this job for a while would even consider doing it.”
“I should be there in ten minutes,” Castillo answered and hung up without another word.
Keri smiled to herself as she turned off the siren and returned it to the passenger seat. She made a quick left onto 5th Street and pulled into a covered parking garage. She looked at the time—1:10. There was still a lot of work to do and only twenty minutes to do it.
CHAPTER TWENTY TWO
Once she parked, Keri allowed herself thirty seconds to take a few breaths and refocus. She was wired and that could lead to mistakes. She couldn’t afford mistakes.
Grabbing a sheet of paper from a notepad, she wrote a short message in basic block lettering. It read:
“Sent this stranger as a go-between. Forgive my caution. Troublesome co-worker needs a long vacation. Could use assistance. Please e-mail.”
It wasn’t a literary masterpiece, but under the circumstances, it would do. Keri put her hair up in a bun, threw on a cap and sunglasses and, now in a perfunctory disguise, stepped into a vintage boutique on 4th Street to buy a cheap red T-shirt. The least expensive one she could find was $30 but she didn’t have time to keep looking so she got it.
After a pit stop at an ATM to grab $200, she rushed over to 3rd Street, one block south of Arizona, and looked around for a likely candidate for the job.
She found the guy she was looking for leaning against a magazine rack at a newsstand in the middle of the promenade, perusing a woodworking magazine. He looked to be in his mid-twenties. He had a wispy beard and wore a gray T-shirt that said “check out my wood.”
But instead of approaching him directly, Keri decided to take an extra level of precaution. She’d use two decoys. That way, if the Collector asked the woodworking fan who sent him there, her identity would still be protected.