He made a sound low in his throat and his hands were big and warm on her back, stroking downward to hold her buttocks, then on to her thighs. But when he urged them apart, she murmured once more, “No…” mingling the word with the dark, sweet essence of his mouth. And then she slid down his body, slowly, kissing every part of him she met on the way, her heart growing quivery at the incredible sleekness of his skin. His hands were light on her sides, letting her slip between them, and his breath escaped him in the gentlest of sighs when she nestled her face in his warm, damp hair and kissed him there.
When he could take no more, he pulled her up to him and lifted his own body to meet her, and they found each other like old lovers after too long a time apart. He wrapped his arms around her, one low on her spine, the other cradling her head, and she brought her legs around his waist and arched to press her torso against his, nesting her breasts in the tickling softness of his chest hair.
Her mouth found his and she opened to him with no reservation at all, and would have gladly lost herself there, but for the sharp gasp that rushed from her throat when he seated himself deep inside her. He caught the gust of breath in his own mouth and held them both still, feeling the off-rhythm thumping of their combined heartbeats, until one or the other-maybe both-of them began to tremble.
Then he tore his mouth from her and in a rasping whisper said, “Billie…I-”
And for the third time she said it, a low, guttural sound from deep in her throat. “No-no words. Just…make love to me.”
“I will…I am…do you feel me loving you?”
And she answered, “Yes…yes…yes…” until she began to shake with dizzy laughter, the kind that sometimes comes with tears.
The next time they woke it was noon, or almost. This time hunger drove them out of bed and back to the kitchen, where a chilly November breeze was blowing through the broken window. While Billie made coffee, Holt taped a flattened cardboard cereal box over the hole, then turned on the noontime news.
“I usually eat peanut butter toast for breakfast,” Billie called from the other side of the counter. “Is that okay with you?”
“Yeah…fine,” he said absently, watching the crawl across the bottom of the television screen. He heard the thump-click of the bread being pushed down in the toaster and turned to say over his shoulder, “Hey, there’s an Amber Alert.”
She was coming toward him, rounding the end of the counter carrying a steaming cup of coffee, smiling. Her eyes went past him to the screen, and the smile seemed to dissolve into a look of utter bewilderment. “Holt?” she said, with almost no sound. The cup in her hands began to wobble, and he snaked out a hand and rescued it just in time to keep it from crashing to the floor.
He was licking his hand where the scalding coffee had slopped over and burned it when he turned back to the news broadcast. Then he no longer felt the scald. He felt as if all the air in his body had been sucked out of him.
Billie moved beside him in stunned silence, and together they stared at the face on the screen…the face of a little girl about ten years old, a little girl with blond hair and magical golden eyes.
Chapter 8
“H annah Grace Bachman disappeared this morning while walking to school in this quiet suburban neighborhood just northwest of Reno. She was last seen wearing…”
“This can’t be a coincidence,” Holt said unevenly. “Who do you know who’d-”
“It’s got to be Miley.” Her voice was tight and breathless, like his was, both of them sounding like someone who’s just taken a blow to the stomach. “Who else could it be? He’s the only one who knew…but how could he have known where she was? I didn’t even know until you gave me that piece of paper-” Her face crumpled-for one brief moment-then settled into a mask of rigid control. She turned in a swift, unbalanced jerk and gripped the edge of the countertop to steady herself. “The paper-the one with her name and address-where is it? I put it down, right here. Did you see it? When we got home last night? It’s not here. It’s not here, Holt-”
“Miley must have found it when he broke in here yesterday,” he said, more calmly than he felt. “Probably right after we left. He was looking for the money, you said. I guess he figured he’d found a way to get it out of you.”
“This is my fault.” She was pacing, hugging herself, her face still empty of all emotion. Only her eyes were alive, crackling with rage, and he understood now why she wore the sunglasses when she played cards. “I should never have asked you to find her. It was stupid. Why did I think I had anything to give her? It was selfish, that’s what it was. Stupid and selfish. God, I can’t even-”
“Cut it out. You may be the reason this happened, but it’s hardly your fault. Look, there’s one good thing, at least. He’s not likely to hurt her, right?”
She stopped pacing to give him a hard look. Then she seemed to deflate as she sagged back against the counter. “I don’t know. Miley’s a weasel and a coward, but he’s desperate. Plus, the people he owes money to probably wouldn’t hesitate to hurt him and anybody else if it’ll get them what they want. And like I told you-I can’t get to the money. At least, I don’t know how to get to it. It’s in an ‘irrevocable trust’-whatever that means.”
“It means you can’t get to it,” Holt said grimly.
“Okay, so what should we do?” She seemed to vibrate with energy. He thought of a warrior, adrenaline-charged and primed for battle.
He picked up the remote and thumbed the television off. “The first thing we have to do is go to the police.”
“Go to…the police.” She said it the way someone would who hasn’t had many reasons to be reassured by that prospect.
He took her gently by the arms. “Think, Billie. That cabdriver is going to do so for sure, the minute he sees that Amber Alert. If he hasn’t already. I’m expecting to hear sirens any second.”
She stared at him as if the words weren’t making sense, and what he wanted to do more than anything in the world was pull her into his arms and just hold her for a while, until the shock of this had diminished, or at least let her know he was there to prop her up if she wanted to break down.
Fat chance of that, he thought. And anyway, there wasn’t time. He planted a quick kiss on her forehead and was about to release her when the phone rang, making them both jump and clutch at each other.
She stared at it as she might a coiled rattler, then looked back at him with a question in her eyes. He nodded. She walked over to the counter, wiped her hands on her bare thighs and picked up the phone.
Her heart banged inside her chest like something trapped and trying desperately to get out. She tried to take a breath, but there was no place to put it, so she held it and managed a raspy, “Hello?”
When Billie heard the voice on the other end she almost dropped the phone. She wanted to hurl it through the window…pound it against something until it broke into a thousand pieces.
“Hey, Billie, you watchin’ television? You seen that Amber Alert thing they got goin’ right now?” The voice sounded high, excited. Scared.
He better be scared because I’m going to kill him, she thought.
Her rage-fogged vision cleared enough so that she could see Holt trying to get her attention, his eyebrows raised in a frowning question. She threw him a look and gave a jerky nod, and he mouthed the word speaker.
She jerked the phone away from her ear, but the buttons on it were shimmering and out of focus, and her hands were shaking too hard to do anything with them anyway. Holt took the instrument out of her hands, punched a button, and Miley’s voice came slinking into the room.
“-you better turn it on. I’m not kiddin’-”
“I’ve seen it.” She felt like flint, the stuff of ancient spears-brittle, hard, capable of killing. “If you hurt her-”
“Jeez, Billie! What kinda guy do you think I am? I’m not-”
“I know what kind of guy you are, Miley-the kind who’d do anything to save his own ass. And if you touch one hai
r on my daughter’s head-”
“Hey. You got no room to threaten me. I’m holding the cards, here, not you. You give me what I want, I give her back to her parents, good as new. It’s as simple as that.”
Billie looked at Holt, then closed her eyes so he wouldn’t see her fear. Her fingers tightened around the phone, which had grown slippery in her hand. “Look-I told you the truth, Miley. I don’t have the money. I can’t give you what I don’t have.”
“Hey…that’s cool. You don’t have the quarter mil anymore-I get it. So, you just have to win some more. I got the buy-in money and you’re all signed up.”
Her stomach went cold. “What are you talking about?”
“The tournament-at the Mirage. You’re in. All you have to do is show up-and win, of course. You win the tournament, you give me what I need, the kid here goes home, and you get to take home what’s left of the pot. Everybody wins.”
“You are insane,” she said, unable to keep her voice steady. “I haven’t played a hand in more than three years. I’m out of practice. And what if the cards don’t go my way? You can’t seriously think-”
“You think I’m not serious?” His voice went shrill. “You think this isn’t serious, what I’m doing here? This oughta show you how serious I am. This is my life I’m talkin’ about. You better win, Billie. You hear me? You better win, and win big. Or else this kid isn’t ever gonna see her mommy and daddy again.”
“Miley, wait! At least tell me-”
But there was nothing but a dial tone. She let the phone slip from her fingers and never even saw where it fell. Her knees buckled. She felt Holt’s arms come around her and allowed herself to be held, and to hold on to him, for a moment. Just a moment. Then she pushed away from him, straightened and said hoarsely, “I’m okay. I’m okay.”
He let her go. She turned in a lost sort of way and combed the fingers of both hands through her hair. Coughed, and threw him a fierce look. “So…I guess we really have to go to the cops, huh?”
“Yeah, we do. We’re going to be their number-one suspects the minute that cabbie puts two and two together.”
“What makes you think they’re going to believe us?” she said in a bleak voice. “And if I’m in jail, how am I going to-”
“I thought about that, too. I think I know somebody who can help us.”
“So, you still have friends in law enforcement?”
“You could say that.” He gave her a dark smile. “Go get dressed so we can get out of here before the cops show up on your doorstep. I’ll tell you about it on the way.”
He waited until he heard her closet door slide back, then picked up the phone from the counter where she’d dropped it, hoping there was caller ID. There was. He hit the button for incoming calls, and at the same time he was opening and closing drawers, looking for pencil and paper. He found what he needed on the third try, scribbled down the number of the last call and tucked the paper in his shirt pocket. Then he took out his cell phone and scrolled down through his speed-dial list to the one he wanted.
A brusque voice answered on the second ring. “Portland P.D., Homicide, this is Detective Ochoa-can I help you?”
“Uh…yeah,” Holt said, “I’m looking for Wade. He anywhere around, by any chance? This is a friend of his-Holt Kincaid-I think we met last spring, during that serial killer thing…”
“Holt Kincaid…oh, yeah-the P.I., right? Sure, I remember you. Wade’s out of the office, but I’ll tell him you called.”
“He on a case?” Holt’s hopes of help were sinking fast.
The Portland detective chuckled. “Nah…I think he went home to have lunch with his wife. You know how these newlyweds are. If you have his cell or home number, you might try him there.”
“Thanks,” Holt said, and disconnected. Letting out an impatient breath, he checked his speed dial again. This time he got voice mail.
“Hey, Wade, this is Holt Kincaid. Give me a call back on my cell when you get this message. Thanks.” He hesitated, then added, “It’s important.”
He disconnected and was searching his phone book for more options when Billie came in looking flushed, tucking the tail of a black long-sleeved pullover shirt into the waistband of khaki cargo pants. She looked ready to take on the world, he thought. All she needed was a flak vest with big letters on the back that said SWAT.
“Ready?” She sounded out of breath.
“Yeah.” He tucked his cell phone in his pocket, snatched up his jacket from the chair back he’d hung it on last night-a lifetime ago. “You happen to know where the police station is?”
Naturally, his cell phone rang on the way, and just as he was maneuvering through erratic lunch-hour traffic. He fumbled the phone out of his pocket and handed it to Billie.
“Here…I don’t talk and drive. Tell him I’ll be with him as soon as I find a place to park.”
He heard her say, “Holt Kincaid’s cell phone…” and then, “Yeah, he’s right here. He just has to find a place to park. Hold on.” She held the phone face down on her thigh. “He says it’s Wade, returning your call.”
“Yeah, I know.” Muttering under his breath, Holt made a right turn down a side street and into the parking lot of an auto parts store. He pulled into an empty space and left the motor running. Billie handed him the phone.
“Hey, buddy,” he said.
Wade’s voice came back to him, sharp with suspicion. “Who was I just talking to?”
Holt said, “Uh…” and glanced over at Billie.
“You call me outta the blue, tell me to call you back, it’s important. So I do, and a woman answers the phone. You found her, didn’t you? Brooke told us you thought you might have. Tell me that wasn’t my baby sister I was just talking to.”
“Uh…” said Holt again, but this time at least he had the presence of mind not to look at Billie. “Yeah…and I’ll tell you all about that later. Right now, though, we’ve got a bit of a situation. May have. I don’t suppose you have any friends in the Las Vegas Police Department?”
“We?” Wade’s tone was instantly serious. “Is my sister in trouble with the law? Again? My God, Kincaid, is this another situation like Brooke’s?”
“No, no-nothing like that. At least…I hope not. May need you to put in a good word for us, though. If you wouldn’t mind.”
“Mind? Hell, I’ll do better than that. I’ve got some personal time coming. How ’bout I see you there in…say, what?” There was some muffled mumbling, and then, in the kind of quiet voice he’d probably use to calm distraught witnesses: “Tee’s already looking up flights. She says it’s important, and you know I don’t argue with her about things like that.”
“Wade? If you wouldn’t mind, it might be a good idea to bring her along, too.”
Wade gave a snort of laughter. “You think she’d let me leave her behind? She’s just reminded me we haven’t really had a honeymoon yet, plus she’s never been to Vegas. We’re on our way, my friend. You just hang in there-and in the meantime, you take good care of my baby sister, you hear me?”
“I mean to,” Holt said softly, and disconnected. He looked over at Billie and found her watching him, and for once he couldn’t read her eyes. “What?” he said as he handed her the phone, more sharply than he meant.
Her gaze didn’t waver. She took a quick little breath, hesitated another second, then said slowly, “I’ve just been remembering something. You told me one of my brothers is named Wade, and that he’s a cop in Portland, Oregon. Tell me the truth, Kincaid. Was I just talking to my brother?”
“Yeah, you were.” And because he suddenly realized his own emotions were piling up behind the dam of his self-control, and he for sure didn’t want to deal with her family issues, he put the Mustang in Reverse and backed out of the parking space.
“And he knows it was me?”
“Yep.”
“And he’s coming to help us? Just…like that?”
“You’re his sister,” Holt said flatly, as the Mustang lurch
ed out of the parking lot and back onto the street. “It’s what families do. Help each other when they need it. Get used to it.”
She didn’t reply, and he drove for a good way in silence.
It wasn’t until he was pulling into the parking lot at the police headquarters that it hit him. He gave a sharp bark of laughter, and Billie’s head jerked toward him.
“I just thought of something,” he said, grinning and slowly shaking his head. “You’re not gonna believe this. This brother of yours. He’s a police detective, right?” She nodded in puzzled agreement. “And guess what, his last name is Callahan.”
She still looked uncomprehending, so he added in exasperation, “You said it-Dirty Harry, remember?”
She covered her eyes with one hand, laughing silently.
Billie had been in police stations before. Those past experiences had not been pleasant, and so far this one wasn’t any better. She felt nervous and scared, for a lot of good reasons, but more than that, she felt angry. Betrayed. Those memories, those feelings…she thought she’d steered her life into a place where she’d never have to feel like that again. Yet, here she was. And she didn’t know who to be mad at. Who to blame.
“I hate this,” she whispered to Holt, and it seemed so natural now to tell him how she felt, although she’d never done that with anyone else before. “The way they look at you. They make me feel like I’ve done something bad even when I know I haven’t.”
“That just means you have a conscience.”
He, at least, seemed unfazed by the fact that they’d been questioned, together and separately, for several hours. Meanwhile, Holt’s Mustang and cell phone had been gone over with all the diligence the LVPD forensics teams could muster, and their identity documents checked and rechecked. Billie had even volunteered a sample of her DNA to corroborate her claim that she was the missing girl’s biological mother. Which, as Holt had pointed out when she’d told him she was going to do it, could also work against her, since it would seem to give her a motive for kidnapping. Now they were together again, in a small, square room without windows, without much of anything in it except for a metal table and several hard chairs, and the single, unwavering eye of a video camera high in one corner.
Kincaid’s Dangerous Game Page 11