by Green, Stacy
“Why?” Kelsi prodded.
“He seems so genuine. Compelling. And no one ever cared about my interest in art. Just Mémé.”
“You said he wore a ring. Can you see it?”
The man’s hands flashed in front of Emilie. Slender fingers. “It’s silver with a dark stone. An onyx, maybe. Something on the stone, but I can’t see it. He put his hand in his pocket.”
“Is he wearing any other jewelry?”
“A watch. Silver. Expensive.”
“How’s he dressed?”
“Dark gray suit. Blue shirt, blue and yellow striped tie. Leather shoes, nice ones. He’s got money.”
“I want you to think about leaving the gallery,” Kelsi said. “What did you do?”
“I got a cab. It was cold, and I didn’t drive.”
“Where did you go next?”
“A bookstore. Not a big chain store. Bauman’s.”
“The rare books store at the Palazzo?”
“Yes. They’re expensive, but I like to browse.”
“You’re in the bookstore. Where do you go?”
Emilie saw the store’s mahogany shelves lined with careworn books. She could smell the scent of the old paper. She browsed through the sections on her way to her favorite—poetry.
“I was sad that day. Missing Mémé. She used to read me poetry instead of nursery rhymes.William Blake was my favorite.”
Ronson was muttering again, but there was excitement in her voice this time.
“Do you find any of Blake’s work?”
“Yes. A second edition of Songs of Innocence, Songs of Experience. I have a copy, but it’s a reprint.”
“Emilie, I want you to concentrate. Focus on your surroundings. Who else is in the store?”
Her mind’s eye searched the aisles of Bauman’s. “A couple—tourists. A woman and her daughter who kept complaining about the old book smell. And a man…”
“What does he look like?”
“I can’t see him very well. He just walked by. His head was turned.”
“Tell me what you saw,” Kelsi urged.
“Cropped hair, dark suit—gray, I think. Leather shoes. Nice cologne. Musky smelling.”
The man stood in her peripheral vision, his back to her. He was tall, lanky. The suit fit him well. His skin was olive-colored, a spattering of gray in his hair.
“Emilie, look closely. Is this the man from the art gallery? Is this the Taker?”
“Yes.”
* * * *
Emilie walked out of Kelsi’s office twenty minutes later. She shaded her eyes and searched her bag for her sunglasses.
“Now we know how he knew about Blake.” Ronson walked beside her. “He followed you from the beginning.”
“How do we know the art gallery was the beginning?”
“The Taker is smart. He needed to make sure you were worthy of his time. The man was evaluating you.”
“How could he have followed me so easily? I took a cab.”
“He’s experienced. This kind of thing excites him, but he keeps his cool. He probably took a cab too–followed you directly out of the museum. You wouldn’t have been paying attention. Where are you parked?”
Emilie pointed to her car. “We still don’t know what set him off. And how does the bookstore help us?”
“We’re going through the security footage from the art gallery. Bauman’s has cameras too. Hopefully both keep their footage. Maybe we can get a match, or maybe he came back. An employee might remember him.”
A scorching wind blew through the parking lot. Emilie’s skin burned and the back of her neck was damp.
“Did I say anything else?”
“About the Taker?”
“No. About…anyone else.”
“Your grandmother.” Ronson stopped at Emilie’s car. “And your mother.”
Emilie’s stomach clenched. “What did I say?”
“That Claire never loved you.”
“Is that it?” Emilie could see her tense reflection in Ronson’s sunglasses.
“That’s it.”
She sagged against the car. The knot between her shoulders loosened. “Thanks.”
“You did well in there. I know it wasn’t easy.”
“I hope I never have to do it again, though.”
“I’ll call you as soon as I hear anything.”
Emilie turned on the engine and cranked on the air. She didn’t feel any different. She’d hoped for a sense of empowerment, like she was doing something to combat the Taker. But nothing had changed. It wouldn’t as long as she sat around playing the damsel in distress.
* * * *
After a long day of heat and relentless ultra-violet rays, the sun was finally fading into the distance. Cirrus clouds streaked across the sky, their feathery tips stained pink.
Nathan stepped on to the walking path and scanned the area for a now-familiar head of auburn hair. Emilie had asked him to meet her at Allegro Park, a popular Henderson spot. He should have said no. SWAT had a raid scheduled for 4:00 a.m. But he wanted to help her.
Stragglers still inhabited the park. A woman played Frisbee with a large black lab, and somewhere on the park’s five acres a barbeque was going. A jogger ran past, then another. Nathan stepped out of their way and continued down the path. He kept an eye out for anyone fitting the Taker’s description. Most of the trees in the park were Palo Verde and the brush was relatively sparse, but there were always places to hide. Nathan didn’t like Emilie being so exposed and alone.
He rounded the bend and saw her waiting on a wooden bench near a large flowerbed of native orchids and primroses. Her back was to him as she watched a colony of butterflies flit around the flowers. Her hair was down around her shoulders. The dark green tank top set off her fair skin.
“Hey,” he called out.
Emilie turned and smiled. Nathan’s heart fluttered unexpectedly. He couldn’t allow himself to fall for this woman. The reputation of the department came first.
“You really shouldn’t be out here alone,” he chastised as he took a seat next to her. Whatever fragrance she wore smelled like the warm summer night: blooming flowers, fresh-cut grass, and a sweet scent he couldn’t describe.
She waved her iPhone at him. “Got my phone ready. Besides, I knew you were coming.”
“And I could have easily been too late.”
A hummingbird buzzed past and dived between the butterflies to feast on the nectar. Emilie smiled as she watched the little bird. “Did you know that hummingbirds are the only birds that can fly backwards?”
“I actually didn’t know any bird could fly backwards.”
“Yep. When I was married, our house had a small backyard. No room for a dog, and Evan didn’t want one anyway. So I started getting bird feeders. I got a lot of larks and purple martins, but the hummingbird was my favorite to watch. Busy little birds.”
“Is everything all right?”
“Why do you ask?” Emilie tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear.
“Because you called me and asked to meet here.”
“You said I could call.”
He decided to follow her lead. Emilie’s face was relaxed, but her tapping foot gave her anxiety away. “Nice toenails,” Nathan said. They were painted a dark purple, and each big toe featured a yellow daisy. “That had to take a while.”
“I didn’t do it myself.” She laughed. “And the pedicurists have patterns.”
“Kelsi got a scorpion design once. She said it represented her love for the desert. Why the daisy?”
“They’re my favorite.”
“Very pretty.”
“Your sister hypnotized me today. She’s nice.”
“She is. What made you change your mind?”
“I went into the basement the other day. Don’t ask me why. I was leaving, but somehow I ended up at the stairwell. The door’s locked.”
“Did you want to see the tunnel?”
“I don’t know what I wanted.” S
he continued to watch the hummingbird.
“What happened? Another flashback?”
“No. I got pissed off.”
“At who?”
“The Taker. The cops for not being able to find him. Myself for being so damned weak.”
“You’re not weak.” Nathan rested his arm on the back of the bench. He wanted to wrap it around her.
“I have been. Ever since I found out what my mother did, I’ve hidden away from anything scary or challenging. I didn’t want to face the truth. I’d just ignore it and move on.”
“You’ve been through a lot. You can’t blame yourself.”
“I don’t. Not for what the Taker’s doing. But I blame myself for not facing Claire and for taking sixteen years to admit the kind of person Evan really is. I blame myself for shutting out everyone who cares about me.” Emilie shifted, and her leg brushed against Nathan’s. He didn’t move.
“What happened today?”
“I remembered the Taker being at Bauman’s after we met at the gallery. I was looking at a book of William Blake’s work. That’s how the Taker knew about the poem.”
“Good information for Ronson.”
“I’m sure you’re wondering exactly why I asked you to meet me.”
“Yes, but I’m glad you did.”
“Good.” Emilie’s lips twitched into a smile. “I really hope you don’t think I’m crazy.”
“I’ve seen your ‘crazy’ in action, remember?” Nathan teased. “I can handle it.”
“I hope so, because I need your help.”
“With what?”
She hugged her knees to her chest. “I can’t sit around anymore. I need to do something.”
“Like what?”
“I want to look for the Taker.”
Chapter Twenty
Emilie stomped up the steps to the Las Vegas library. Her hair stuck to the back of her neck and moisture pooled on her upper lip.
Stupid heat.
She was still smarting from Nathan’s refusal to help her.
He’d sat on the park bench beside her, listening as she laid out her plan. And then crushed it. “You’re a civilian. It’s not safe for you to run around town. If the Taker’s following you, he’ll figure out what you’re up to pretty quickly. Then he’s going to be pissed.”
“I can’t do ‘nothing’ anymore.”
“You’re remembering things that are helpful, Emilie. That’s not doing ‘nothing.’”
Sitting around on her butt all day having her mind probed wasn’t her idea of helping. She yanked the library door open and sucked in a breath of cool air. She’d just have to investigate on her own.
She had chosen the downtown branch as her first stop because it housed local history. She wandered through the tables feeling stifled. Libraries always gave her the creeps. They were too quiet, too structured. People sat at their study tables waiting for you to talk too loudly.
A gray-haired woman sat at the information desk working on a computer. She looked over her glasses at the screen, her upper lip raised and her eyes narrowed. This should be fun.
“Excuse me.”
“Can I help you?” The woman didn’t look up.
“I’m doing some research about the storm drain system. Could you help me?”
‘Cranky librarian lady’ rose from her chair with a sigh. “Follow me.”
She led Emilie to an imposing section of binders and documents. “All city information is here.” The librarian pulled an overstuffed binder off the shelf. “This has maps, engineering documents, city hall records.”
Emilie sat down at a table and started leafing through the binder. “Do you have anything more specific to the storm drains?”
No one answered. The librarian had already gone back to her computer.
“Christ.”
She pulled out a confusing looking flood map. Every tunnel of the city’s extensive storm drain system was coded, but she couldn’t make sense of it. Where were the entrances? How did she figure out what building a tunnel ran under?
“This is a waste of time.”
Emilie heaved the binder back to the reference desk. “This isn’t what I need. Do you have any kind of history on the storm drains? Or a map that’s easier to understand?”
“The flood map is in the binder.”
“It’s like reading Greek.”
“Maybe I can help you.” A wrinkled hand patted Emilie’s arm. “The storm drains again? Are you working on the project for the historical society too?”
“No, personal research.” She glanced at the second librarian’s nametag. “Richelle. Can you help me make sense of this?”
“I can try.” Richelle pulled a pair of glasses out of her pocket. “Let’s see, everything eventually ends up in the Las Vegas Wash.”
“Where are the main entrances?”
“Entrances? Well, they’re all over. There’s one here,” she pointed to a jumble of code. “Off I-15. It’s pretty big.”
“This is going to sound weird, but are there any old maps? Maybe some that have hidden entrances, or entrances that aren’t used anymore?”
“You’re the second person to ask me that. The man from the historical society asked the same thing.”
The hair on Emilie’s arms stood up. “When was this?”
“Three months ago, maybe. He was working on a project.”
“Do you remember much about him?” Emilie’s mouth had gone dry.
“You know, I do. He was strange.”
“How so?”
“Oh, he started off charming at first. Chatted at me like we were old friends. Was interested in the history of the city. I told him the stories I’d heard about the storm drains being built over the old bootlegging system the mob used during Prohibition. My granddad always bragged about running with the mob. Had all kinds of stories like that.”
“And this man was interested in the stories?”
“Oh, yes,” Richelle said. “In fact, when I told him I had a hand-drawn map of my granddad’s, he insisted on purchasing it from me. His whole attitude changed when I declined. He went from smooth-talker to angry southerner in seconds.”
“Angry southerner?” Emilie’s voice rose. ‘Cranky librarian lady’ shushed her.
“He was covering up his accent. Can you believe that? One minute he sounds like a polished businessman and the next he’s knee deep in southern-speak.”
She sucked in a ragged breath. “What did he look like?”
“Tall, fairly thin. Well-dressed, a neatly trimmed beard. Lovely olive-colored skin and dark eyes.”
“Can you remember anything else about him?”
The old librarian rubbed a gnarled finger over her bottom lip. “No. He left when I threatened to call security.”
“He was with the historical society?”
“That’s what he said.”
Emilie shut the binder. “I don’t suppose you’d consider selling that map to me.”
“I’m sorry,” Richelle said. “It’s all I’ve got of my granddad’s. But it’s just a series of chicken scratches that would only make sense to someone familiar with the system.”
It had been worth a try. At least Emilie knew the Taker had been searching for a tunnel entrance months before he tried to abduct her. And he had a southern accent. “Thank you.” Emilie headed for the exit, her head spinning.
The back of her neck began to tingle. A shiver ran up her spine. She had the same smothering sense of being watched she’d had at the bank on her first day back. Had the Taker followed her here?
Emilie dug in her bag for her cellphone and keys. It was broad daylight. She’d take the most populated path out of the library and go straight to her car. Her cellphone would be in her hand ready to call 911. The Taker wouldn’t dare come after her right now.
She gasped at the burst of sweltering air. Her face was damp before she’d taken five steps. Her shoes slapped against the pavement as she rushed to the car.
Footsteps so
unded behind her. Emilie’s heart stuttered and then began to race. She had to keep it together. This was a public library.
She quickened her pace. The footsteps accelerated.
Her fingers locked around the cellphone. Her car was in sight. She punched the ‘unlock’ button on her key.
The person behind her was close. She could hear him breathing.
She forced her fingers to move.
Strong arms closed around her before she could complete the call.
She couldn’t think. A crushing fear swept over Emilie. Her flight or fight response stalled.
“This is why you shouldn’t go running around by yourself. If I were the Taker, I’d have you.”
She sagged into Nathan’s arms.
“You dirty son-of-a-bitch.” She twisted around and punched his broad chest. “What gives you the right to do to scare me half to death?”
“Ouch.” Nathan rubbed the spot where she’d hit him. “I’m trying to help you.”
“You had your chance. You said no.”
“And you were mad as hell. I knew you’d try something like this. I’m just glad I managed to catch you at your house before you left for the library. I thought work was going to keep me.”
Emilie noticed the circles around his eyes and his five-o’clock shadow. “You’ve been up since yesterday?”
“Yeah. That’s my shift.”
“The bank robbery wasn’t at night.”
“I got paged.”
They glared at each other. Emilie couldn’t decide if she was more furious or touched. Nathan had pulled a shady trick, but he’d stayed up to keep an eye on her when he clearly needed to sleep.
“You’re an ass.”
“I’m sorry.” He held up his hands. “I shouldn’t have scared you like that. But you can’t just be running around especially after what you just found out.”
“You were spying on me in the library?”
He shrugged.
“Why didn’t I see you? Why didn’t you say anything?”
“You didn’t see me because I didn’t want you to. And I didn’t want to interrupt. You were doing just fine on your own.”
“He’s from the South.” Emilie glanced back at the library. She was having trouble looking into Nathan’s eyes.
“Explains why Ronson’s not turning up anything in the tri-state area.”