Gone without a Trace

by Patricia Bradley

  Near the door, screams blended with the wind. He wished she wouldn’t make him do this. He hated using the drugs. But he couldn’t have her screaming like that. It would disturb his mother. He pulled a pair of night goggles from his coat pocket and slipped them on before entering the pitch-black barn. She stood at the cage, gripping the bars, and he smelled her fear. Sour, acidic pheromones. Years of smelling his own had honed his senses. He stood a little taller. He was the giver of life . . . or death.

  “Let me out of here!”

  How did she do that? Know he’d come into the barn. She yelled again. Really, it’d been four days. Hadn’t she figured out she wasn’t leaving here? “All this yelling,” he said. “Stop it.”

  “Please,” she sobbed. “Let me go. I promise I won’t tell anyone. My father. He’ll pay you whatever you ask.”

  “Sharon, I don’t want money.” He kept his eyes on her as he hesitated at the door to the cage. So beautiful. Like an orchid. But that blonde hair. “Why did you bleach your hair, Sharon?”

  She turned toward his voice. “I’ve told you over and over again. I’m not Sharon. My name is Samantha Jo Woodson. My grandfather is a state senator in Texas. He’ll pay whatever you ask.”

  He’d have to dye her hair back to its natural color. Tomorrow he would pick out the right shade of red, and tomorrow night she would change her hair to its natural color, or he’d sedate her and do it himself.

  He slipped the prefilled hypodermic syringe from his pocket. From the other pocket he took out the rock he’d picked up and threw it against the wall of the cell as he unlocked the door. She whirled around, and he slipped inside the cage.

  She felt the air in front of her.

  Silently he slipped behind her and grabbed her in a choke hold, quickly injecting the rohypnol in her neck. Just as quickly, he let her go and slipped back out of the cell, locking it. “I wouldn’t have to do this if you would just be quiet.”

  She collapsed in a heap. “Please, please let me go.”

  “Listen to me, Sharon.” He whispered the words. “You’re not leaving me again. If you would just accept that you’re so much better off here with me instead of working where those men watch you. Did you know they watched you?”

  “No.” Her voice faded.

  “You’re mine, Sharon. Only mine.”

  6

  By eleven Thursday, Livy thought she would lose her mind. She could not sit in this cubicle behind a desk for however long it took to get her confidence back. Did she even want to be a cop any longer? She’d tossed and turned half the night wrestling with that question.

  Maybe it’d be easier to look for something else to do with her life. Like what? Being a homicide detective is all she’d ever wanted to do. Was she going to let the tragedy with Justin Caine take her dream away? Resolve surged up from inside her. No. But sitting behind a desk, shuffling papers, would not get her confidence back.

  Do you think you could help me with this case? Alex Jennings’s question last night surfaced in her thoughts. Nothing about the case required a gun—just following up on leads. Maybe if she really threw herself into helping Alex solve Samantha Jo’s case, it would be the boost she needed to get past what happened with Caine. She closed the folder and walked to Captain Reed’s office. “Can I talk to you?”

  He motioned her in. “Close the door. Have you made an appointment with Dr. Robinson?”

  “No. I want to see someone else. Taylor Martin, I mean Sinclair.” She had trouble remembering to use Taylor’s married name.

  “The profiler who helped us last summer with the Wilson case?”

  Livy nodded. “I want to take a leave of absence until I can figure out what’s going on in my head.”

  “I think that’s a good idea. When do you want to start your leave?”

  “How about right now? I can’t shuffle papers indefinitely—I’ll go crazy.”

  “Fill out the paperwork before you leave.” He studied her for a minute. “You’ll get your confidence back, Livy. Killing someone, even in the line of duty, is a hard thing to deal with.”

  “Have you ever . . .”

  “Yes.”

  He glanced down at his desk, and when he looked up again, she read the same pain in his eyes that haunted her.

  “I believe it’s something a good cop never gets over. You have to compartmentalize and not open that box, or it will eat you up.”

  Livy didn’t want to say it, but compartmentalizing was easier for men—their minds automatically separated things into boxes. For women, on the other hand, everything was connected. It was harder for women to put distance between themselves and anything that affected them emotionally. But she nodded. No reason to give the captain another reason to keep her benched. “Thank you, sir. I’ll stay in touch and let you know how I’m progressing.”

  Outside Reed’s office, she searched for Mac and found him in the break room. “How are you today?”

  “Okay. Still sore, but no more arrhythmia. You?”

  Mac’s voice was guarded, almost like he was walking on eggshells. She’d give anything to have their easy camaraderie back. “I just asked for a leave.”

  The pinched brows relaxed. “That’s great. I know you’ll be back and better than ever. You just need a little time.”

  “I know.”

  He hugged Livy, surprising her.

  “I wasn’t trying to hurt you when I told Reed that you were having trouble. Olivia, I care about you. You’re like a kid sister, and I was just trying to look out for you.”

  She pressed her lips together. Three years they’d been partners, and somehow she’d missed that Mac thought of her like a sister. She never had a brother to look out for her, only a cousin—Ben Logan—and come to think of it, Mac and Ben treated her the same way. Somewhere in the back of her mind she had this fantasy that one day Mac would look at her and see more than a partner.

  She didn’t know whether to laugh or cry from embarrassment. At least she’d never told him her feelings, and hearing him say the words kid sister was kind of a release from something she never had. This might be the time to let him know she was glad Julie was back in his life. “Look, I hope you and Julie can work things out.”

  He startled. “I . . . I don’t know what you mean.”

  She stared at him. She’d observed the way his ex looked at him. Was it possible he didn’t know that Julie was still in love with him? “You’ll get it, just give it time.”

  As she walked out of the Criminal Justice Center, Livy could have sworn she heard a door close. She turned to look back. Concrete and glass. She remembered the first day she walked through the glass doors. Excited. Anxious. Fearful. All of it rolled into a dream come true. She pressed her lips together and nodded toward the building. She would be back.

  So why did walking away feel so final?

  Livy drove to her apartment and picked up a few clothes. No sense in trying to stay in Memphis if she planned to work in Logan Point with Alex on the two cases. And as for the counseling sessions, she would bring that up the next time she talked to Taylor. Maybe she didn’t even need them. She locked the dead bolt on the door of her apartment, once again sensing finality. It was as though she was starting a new chapter in her life, but on the drive to Logan Point, she couldn’t get the old chapter off her mind, Mac and Julie in particular.

  How long had it been since she’d had a serious relationship? Too many years to count. Men just didn’t live up to her expectations. Mac did. Yeah, but they didn’t have a dating relationship, and if she went beneath the surface of those feelings, she knew what she’d find. Mac was desirable because he was unattainable—just like the soccer player she drooled over on TV. She’d always known he still carried feelings for his ex-wife and therefore that made him safe to care about. So why was it so difficult for her to fall in love?

  Like she had to ask. The men she’d dated in the past were a lot like her dad. Here today and gone tomorrow. And what was it with picking the same man over
and over, except for their name? Was she subconsciously attracted to men like her dad?

  Jeremy Reynolds had showed her early on that men could not be depended on. Her father would rather be off flying his airplane in Alaska than keeping his promise to come home for her birthday. Year after year until she quit reminding him of the date. And he never remembered on his own. Not once in the last fifteen years. Oh, a week later, maybe, but never on her birthday.

  Which reminded her not to get caught up in Alex Jennings and his laid-back personality either. Any man who flew small airplanes probably had the same wanderlust her dad did. Alex already had one thing in common with her dad—he didn’t follow through, or he would have already taken the bar exam. And his explanation that he didn’t want to practice law didn’t wash. Who in their right mind worked for a law degree if they didn’t want to practice law?

  Alex sat at the traffic light, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. February was a short month, reminding him he had little time to waste in finding Samantha Jo. So far he had nothing. She could easily be off with her boyfriend. Or she could’ve gotten the urge to move on to Nashville. But she would not have left her J Brand jeans behind. It took a certain personality to wear the two-hundred-dollar jeans. His last girlfriend wore them, and she wouldn’t be caught dead in anything else. Dead. Not a word he wanted to associate with this case.

  When the light changed, he turned and drove slowly around the town square. It was a charming little town with storefronts reminiscent of the fifties and sixties, only newer looking. Evidently a huge restoration had taken place not long ago. He parked the Impala in front of the jail and climbed out. He’d heard the weatherman report that the temperature would be close to sixty. That was what he loved about the South. It usually didn’t stay cold long. When he went inside the sheriff’s department, the receptionist looked up. “It’s Alex, isn’t it?”

  “I’m surprised you remember me.” What was her name? Millie? No. Maggie. “Is Ben around, Maggie?”

  “Let me buzz him.” She spoke into the phone, then nodded. “He said to come on back. Third door on the right.”

  Alex walked down the hall and located Ben’s office.

  “I’m glad you came by,” Ben said when Alex entered his office. He nodded toward another man sitting on the sofa. “Alex, Wade Hatcher, my chief deputy.”

  Alex shook the outstretched hand.

  “We were just going over to Samantha Jo’s apartment to comb through it. Want to come along?”

  “You bet. I’ll follow you.”

  At the apartment, each man pulled on latex gloves and took a room. In the kitchen, Alex sorted through the mail on the counter. Nothing but utility bills and advertisements. He went through the drawers, then the pantry. Nothing unusual other than Samantha Jo was very tidy. He turned and ran his gaze around the small room, looking for anything out of place. On one wall, a whiteboard listed her schedule at the diner for the week. He stepped closer. An envelope had been stuck behind the board, and he removed it.

  Childish letters spelled out her name and address. “Ben, I might have something here.”

  The envelope had been opened. He slid the paper out. The same lettering. I warned you, but you didn’t listen. Quit the job at Johnny B’s or else.

  “What do you have?” Ben asked.

  Alex handed him the letter as Wade joined them. “It looks like a threat.”

  “Why didn’t she report this?” Wade asked.

  “Maybe it’s from her boyfriend. That Cody Wilson kid,” Alex said.

  “Turns out that wasn’t his name. The credit card was stolen, and the boyfriend had maxed the card out just prior to using it at Molly’s.”

  “The owner didn’t report it?”

  “The real Cody Wilson didn’t know until his bill came in, and that was in December—it was a card he didn’t use much. How about Samantha Jo’s parents? What’d you learn from them?”

  “They’d never heard of him.” Alex flexed his fingers. The urgency to find Samantha Jo gnawed at him.

  Ben scratched his jaw. “Let’s go see if ViCAP has anything similar to this case reported.”

  Two hours later, the three of them pored over the results of the queries. “One hundred and three cases of waitresses in the eighteen- to twenty-nine age range who disappeared and haven’t been found.”

  “Look at this,” Wade said. “Five cases where waitresses reported being abducted and left in strange places. Each of them had received anonymous notes at some point before their abductions.”

  “Does it mention what the notes said?” Ben asked.

  Wade looked closer at the sheet of paper. “They were warnings for the waitresses to quit their jobs and take care of their children.”

  Alex leaned forward. “But why would he take Samantha Jo? She didn’t have a child. And this note doesn’t mention one.”

  “Good question. Perhaps he thinks she does,” Ben said.

  Wade pointed to the note. “This sounds like it’s not the first note she received.”

  It didn’t make sense. But then crime never did to Alex. He looked over the ViCAP sheet again. “Could any of the women identify their captor?”

  “No. In each case, the waitress had no recollection of how they got to where they were dumped.” Wade read a little further. “Lab reports show traces of GHB, but no sign of sexual assault.”

  “Where did these attacks occur?” Alex asked.

  “Kentucky, Ohio, South Carolina, North Carolina, and Tennessee.”

  Ben stood and walked to the whiteboard in his office. “Give me the location with dates.”

  Wade read the names and dates. “Columbia, South Carolina, January two years ago; Cedar Point, North Carolina, May, four months later; Henderson, Kentucky, August of last year; Nashville, Tennessee, October of last year; Cincinnati, Ohio, a month later in November.”

  The sheriff paused. “He’s escalating . . . unless some of the abductions weren’t reported.”

  “Let’s check these out—get the full report,” he said. “Wade, you take the first two, and I’ll do the others.”

  A text chimed on Alex’s phone. Livy. She was on her way to Logan Point. He texted his location and received a reply. “Livy Reynolds is picking me up, and we’re going to Johnny B’s.”

  “Livy? Coming here in the middle of the day?” Ben exchanged looks with Wade. “She’s not working?”

  “Said something about taking off this afternoon. From the way she talked, I don’t think she’s working on a case.”

  Ben lifted his eyebrows.

  Wait a minute. Livy was a homicide detective in Memphis. She should be busy. Alex folded his arms. “What’s going on?”

  Ben doodled on a piece of scrap paper, and then he tossed the pencil on his desk. “Something happened back in December. She’ll probably tell you about it after she gets to know you.”

  “What happened?”

  Ben seemed to struggle with telling him.

  “I can always google it,” Alex said. “But if it’s something I need to know, I’d appreciate—”

  “It’s not a secret,” Ben said, and Wade nodded in agreement. “Livy interrupted an armed robbery one night before Christmas, chased the guy into a dark, dead-end alley. Told him to put his gun down, but he wouldn’t comply. Started toward her, and she shot him. Turned out to be a seventeen-year-old boy with a toy gun.”

  “He also had a switchblade in his pocket,” Wade said. “Everyone seems to forget that.”

  Alex held up his hand. “I don’t understand.”

  “She’s had trouble dealing with the boy’s death. Feels she should have known it was a toy. The department review of the case found nothing wrong with her actions.”

  Alex could only imagine how difficult it would be to deal with killing anyone, even in self-defense, but a kid with a toy gun would be so much harder. “So, she’s second-guessing herself?”

  “Yeah.”

  The information was useful to know, but he didn’t s
ee that it would affect Samantha Jo’s case. He simply had to find her, and he didn’t expect it would involve guns or shooting. Although he had brought his 9mm Glock along with him and was proficient in using it. His father had seen to that.

  Ben stood. “Do me a favor and don’t mention that we discussed this. She’ll tell you in good time.”

  “I won’t.” Alex knew better than to expect Livy to tell him what had happened. Information like that was shared only with someone you trusted. And trust took time. He hoped to be out of Logan Point and back to Dallas by the end of the week.

  Ben’s phone buzzed, and he picked up the receiver. “Thanks, Maggie.” He hung up. “Livy’s on her way back.”

  Alex stood and slipped his hand into his pocket, jingling his change. The sooner they got started, the sooner he could close this case.

  “Well, what have you guys discovered?” Livy asked as she entered the room.

  After Ben gave a summary, she frowned. “So we may be dealing with a serial killer? Or at the least, a serial abductor?”

  “No one’s died that we know of yet. Wade and I will be contacting the sheriffs in the counties where those five abductions occurred. Should know if those cases fit this profile.”

  “Speaking of profile,” Livy said, “have you run this case by Taylor?”

  “No. I’ll text her and ask her to stop by today after she finishes teaching. Oh, and I don’t think you’ll learn anything at Johnny B’s. I was out there yesterday asking questions.”

  “It’s worth a shot,” Livy said. “Maybe your questions triggered a few new memories.”

  “Who’s Taylor?” Alex asked.

  “A good friend. A victim profiler,” Livy said. “And she’s Chase’s sister. Maybe Samantha Jo’s case will shed new light on Robyn’s.” She turned to Alex. “Are you ready to see what we can discover at Johnny B’s?”

  He’d been ready. “Your car or mine?”