Colorado Bodyguard

by Cindi Myers

  “Have you spoken to Phil?” Sophie asked.

  “Not yet,” Rand said. “We telephoned his number and left a message, but we haven’t heard anything.” The ex didn’t seem a likely suspect in the disappearance of a wife who’d given him the divorce he wanted and was paying him support.

  “Maybe someone forced Lauren to write this note,” Carmen said.

  “Someone who knew where you’d be this afternoon,” Rand said.

  “Do you think someone’s been following me?” she asked. The thought sent a chill through her, and she hugged her arms across her stomach.

  “I haven’t noticed anyone,” Rand said. “I think I would have.”

  She nodded. He’d always seemed alert and aware of things going on around them. “If they weren’t following me, how did they—whoever they are—know that I was here? Did they just see my car out front and take advantage of the opportunity?”

  “Even if they guessed you might come to the park because your sister disappeared here, they’re taking a chance, driving around hoping to spot you,” Carmen said.

  “They didn’t necessarily have to physically tail you.” Graham looked thoughtful. “Not if they can track you electronically.”

  “What is he talking about?” Sophie asked Rand.

  Rand’s mouth tightened into a hard line. “He’s talking about a tracking device on your car.” He stood and she rose also and followed him, along with the others, out to the parking lot. He dropped to the ground and rolled over on his back and slid under the bumper. A moment later he emerged, a box about the size of a packet of cigarettes in his hand.

  Sophie stared at the box, on which two lights blinked green. “That’s a tracking device?”

  “It has GPS.” He turned the box over, examining it. “Anyone with a computer and the right program can see wherever you go.”

  Anger surged through her. She wanted to snatch the box out of his hand and stomp on it. “Why would someone do that?” she asked. “And has it been there ever since I got to Colorado?”

  “Someone could have put it on while your car was parked at your hotel,” Carmen said.

  “Or one of Prentice’s guards could have put this on your car while we were inside talking to him,” Rand said.

  “Then that means I was right—Lauren was at his house. He’s holding her prisoner and he made her write the note, thinking it would make me go away.” She gripped his arm. “You have to rescue her.”

  “We don’t know where she is.” He looked pained as he said the words.

  Was he being purposely dense? “She’s at Richard Prentice’s estate. This proves it.”

  “This isn’t proof.” The captain moved to stand in front of her, his expression stern, but his voice gentle. “This proves that someone is following you,” he said. “But we don’t know who that is. We’ll try to trace the origin of this device, but the chances of linking it to Richard Prentice are slim to none.”

  “But the note...”

  “Even if you’re right and your sister wrote it, we don’t know how it got to your car,” Graham said. “We’ll question anyone who may have driven by and ask if they’ve seen anything, but it’s easy enough for someone to park at the Ranger station and slip over here without anyone noticing.”

  “She was in the house. I smelled her perfume.” She’d been that close to Lauren. Why hadn’t she stayed there and demanded to see her?

  “If we go back there now I can almost guarantee you won’t find any trace of that scent,” Rand said. “If Richard Prentice does have your sister, he’s been doing a good job of hiding that fact for the last month.”

  She covered her mouth with her hand, fighting for control. Was Lauren imprisoned in a locked room or dungeon, like women she’d read about in the papers or seen on TV who had been held prisoner for years, invisible to everyone who lived and worked around them?

  “There must be something you can do,” she said after a moment.

  “We’ll put extra surveillance on Prentice’s estate,” Graham said.

  “He’ll love that,” Emma said. “He’s already suing the Rangers for harassment.”

  “Can’t you get a warrant to search his property?” Sophie asked.

  “On what grounds?” Graham asked. “Not to mention a billionaire like Prentice wields a lot of influence.”

  “And he has a state senator on his side,” Rand said. “The only way to overcome their opposition is to gather convincing evidence and have a solid case. Which we intend to do.”

  “How will you do that?” she asked.

  “We’ll start with the hotel clerk,” Graham said. “We’ll see if she can identify the man who was with your sister. We know it wasn’t Richard Prentice, but maybe it was someone who works for him.”

  “What am I supposed to do?” she asked.

  “Follow Lauren’s advice and try not to worry,” Graham said, though the sympathy in his eyes told her he knew how difficult that would be.

  “Let me help you,” she said. “There must be something I can do—paperwork, phone calls...” Anything was better than sitting around worrying.

  “When you go back to your hotel this afternoon, try to remember everything you can about your last conversations with her,” Rand said. “Even something insignificant might help us understand why she came to Montrose and what she hoped to accomplish here.”

  It wasn’t what she wanted, but she could see it was all she had, for now. She nodded. “All right. And you’ll let me know if you find out anything at all?”

  He nodded. “I’ll stop by this evening.” He handed the tracking device to Carmen, then took Sophie’s arm and guided her back to the driver’s side of the car. “I know this is hard,” he said. “But try to stay strong, for Lauren’s sake. This is a priority now. We’ll do everything we can to find her.”

  “You believe me, don’t you?” She studied his face, searching for confirmation that he was on her side. “You believe that I smelled Lauren’s perfume and I recognized her handwriting?”

  “I believe you.”

  “You’re not just saying it to be nice?”

  “I work with a dog who can recognize the faintest scents—ones the human nose can’t detect. Why wouldn’t you recognize a perfume your sister wore all the time? Scent is one of the most powerful senses, and even though we don’t have the ability of dogs, we associate certain smells with specific people and situations.”

  “Are you comparing me to a dog?” She managed a smile to show she wasn’t insulted.

  “Hey, I meant it as a compliment. I think a lot of my dog.”

  “I’ll remember that.” Though dogs frightened her, she wished she had someone she could feel as close to right now.

  “Hang in there.” He squeezed her shoulder. “I’ll see you this evening. Maybe we can go to dinner. It will do you good to get out of the hotel for a while.”

  “All right. See you then.” She slid into the driver’s seat and fit the key into the ignition. She’d do as he suggested and focus on staying strong, for Lauren’s sake. But she’d never imagined how hard that would be. Today had been like losing her sister all over again.

  * * *

  “WHAT IF WE’RE looking in the wrong direction, and Prentice doesn’t have anything to do with Lauren Starling’s disappearance?” Marco Cruz, his expression unreadable behind his dark sunglasses, asked the question as he and Rand and Lotte headed to the Country Inn that afternoon.

  “Anything’s possible,” Rand said. “Maybe it’s an incredible coincidence that everything appears to point back to him.”

  “Prentice knew Lauren,” Marco said. “Maybe she even came here to see him. But I don’t see any motivation for him to kidnap her.”

  “Maybe she found out something about his operation that he didn’t want getting out.”


  “In that case, I think he’d kill her. Why keep her around for a month?”

  “I don’t know, but I hope Sophie’s right and Lauren really did write that letter. Wherever she is, I hope she’s still alive.”

  “After all she’s been through, the woman deserves a break,” Marco said.

  “Yeah. She dropped everything to come down here and look for her sister—not many people would do that.”

  “I was talking about Lauren, but yeah, I can see it’s been hard on Sophie, too.”

  Rand hoped Sophie was able to get some rest at her hotel this afternoon, though he doubted it. She clearly felt responsible for her sister, almost the way a mother might feel about a child. “Do you have any brothers and sisters?” he asked.

  “I’ve got six sisters.” Marco folded his arms over his chest. “I’m the youngest.”

  Rand started to make a joke about the baby of the family, but nothing about the muscular, six-foot, ex–Special Forces DEA agent said “baby.” “Do they all still try to look after you?” he asked.

  “They do. When I was still in California they were always up in my business, telling me what to do, what to eat, what to wear, who to date. I told them I had one mother, I didn’t need six more, but they don’t listen.”

  “I guess that could get to be a little much. But now that you’re so far away, do you miss them?”

  “Nope.” He glanced at Rand. “But if anybody tried to hurt one of them, I’d do whatever it took to find that person and make him pay.”

  Pity the man—or woman—who had to face Marco’s wrath, Rand thought. He signaled for the turn into the motel parking lot. Marco retrieved the tablet with the mug shots they’d put together while Rand let Lotte out of the back and clipped on her leash. She gave a big shake, like an athlete loosening up before a race, then looked up at him, wagging her tail. “I don’t have a job for you right now, girl,” he said. “Just thought you’d like to stretch your legs.”

  Marlee and another young woman, shorter and rounder with long blond hair, looked up from behind the registration desk when they entered. “What a gorgeous dog,” the other woman said. “What’s her name?”

  “Her name is Lotte.” Rand checked the clerk’s name tag. “Hello, Candy.”

  “Hey, Officer Knightbridge,” Marlee said, but her eyes were fixed on Marco. “Who’s your friend?”

  “Marco Cruz.” Marco showed his credentials and both women leaned forward to study them.

  “What can we do for you, Officer Cruz?” Marlee asked, a little breathily. Marco often had that effect on women. Rand might as well be invisible.

  “We brought some photos for you to look at.” Marco switched on the tablet and handed it to Marlee. “We want to see if you recognize any of them as the man Lauren Starling met when she stayed here.” The tablet started through a slide show of men’s photos they’d pulled from the files of the local police of everyone who matched the description Marlee had given them.

  “You mean Jane Smith?” Candy asked. “I knew that had to be a fake name—what do you call it, when someone makes up a name like that?”

  “An alias,” Marco said.

  “Right.” Candy’s smile broadened. “I knew Jane Smith had to be an alias, but I had no idea she was somebody famous until Marlee told me. And now she’s missing? That’s wild!”

  “Did you see the man she was with?” Rand asked.

  Candy shook her head. “Sorry, I didn’t.” She elbowed her friend. “Usually, night shift is more interesting, but not that day.”

  “There’s a lot of guys here,” Marlee said, eyes on the tablet. “So far, nobody rings a bell.”

  Candy leaned over her shoulder to watch the slide show. “Some shady-looking characters,” she said. “I prefer a more clean-cut type myself.” She sent Marco a flirtatious look.

  “Was anyone else on duty during Ms. Starling’s stay here?” Rand asked.

  The two young women exchanged glances. “There’s Jobie, the handyman,” Marlee said doubtfully. “He’s always around during the day.”

  “Is he here now?” Rand asked.

  “Somewhere, I guess,” Marlee said.

  “Could you ask him to come up here, please?”

  “I’ll call him.” Candy moved to the phone.

  Marlee began flipping through the photos on the tablet again.

  “Take your time,” Rand said. “Don’t focus so much on what they’re wearing or their expression. Try to picture them standing with Lauren that afternoon. Do any of them match your memory of the man she met outside her room?”

  “Jobie’s on his way up,” Candy said, joining them again.

  After a few moments a man in his fifties dressed in baggy pants and a University of Denver sweatshirt shambled in. He eyed Marco and Rand warily, but addressed Candy. “You wanted me for something?”

  “These gentleman have some questions for you,” she said.

  “What kind of questions?” He took a step back.

  Jobie looked as if he would bolt out the door if either officer took a step toward him. Rand was used to dealing with people who were nervous around cops. He watched the handyman closely out of the corner of his eye, ready for trouble, but kept his tone casual. “Do you remember a woman who was staying here about a month ago, a pretty blonde, registered as Jane Smith?”

  “We get a lot of pretty blondes who stay here,” Jobie said.

  “This one was in 154, on the back side of the building,” Candy said. “Very classy.”

  He shook his head, his eyes half-closed. “Don’t remember.”

  “Maybe a picture will refresh your memory.” Marco handed him the photograph of Lauren they’d copied from Sophie’s phone.

  His eyes opened wider as he studied the picture, but he shook his head as he handed it back. “Don’t know.”

  “Are you sure?” Rand asked. “We think she met a man here. Did you see her with anyone, maybe talking outside her room?”

  Jobie looked at Candy. “It’s okay,” she said. “You’re not in any trouble.”

  “If you saw something, you need to tell us,” Rand said. “If we find out later you lied to us, it could cause trouble.”

  Anger flared in his eyes, and he shoved the picture back at them. “What’s it to you, anyway?” he asked.

  “This woman might be in trouble,” Rand said. “The man she was with might know something that could help us find her.”

  “Alan don’t know nothing,” Jobie said. “He stays clear of trouble.”

  “Alan who?”

  Jobie pressed his lips together and gave a single shake of his head.

  Candy leaned across the counter toward him. “Do you mean Alan Milbanks?” she asked. “Was he talking to this Jane Smith?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Who’s Alan Milbanks?” Rand asked.

  “He’s just this guy,” she said. “He owns the fish place.”

  “What fish place?” Rand asked.

  “Oh, you know—out on the highway, just past the airport? There’s a big sign—Fresh Seafood.”

  “You go there often?” Marco asked.

  Candy flushed. “Not often. I just...I have a friend who likes to go there, and sometimes I go with him, that’s all.” She turned back to Jobie. “Was it Alan?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Alan wasn’t the guy I saw.” Marlee looked up from her study of the tablet. “Alan is older than the guy I saw, and his hair is darker.”

  “Jobie, did you see Jane Smith talking to Alan Milbanks here at the motel?” Rand fixed the handyman with a stern gaze.

  Jobie shoved his hands in his pockets and nodded. “Yeah. They were standing by his car, parked in front of her room.”

  “What were they talking about?” Marco asked
. “Did you overhear anything?”

  “No. I figured they were just making a transaction, you know.”

  Rand and Marco exchanged a look. “A transaction?”

  Jobie squirmed. “Alan does a little dealing on the side sometimes. At least, that’s what I hear. I wouldn’t know personally.”

  I just bet you wouldn’t, Rand thought. He turned to Candy. “Is that right? Does Alan Milbanks deal drugs?”

  She flushed. “I’ve heard rumors that he sometimes has stuff for sale. Just, from time to time, you know. Nothing big.”

  “But you say the guy you saw wasn’t Alan?” Marco asked Marlee.

  She shook her head, then glanced down at the tablet once more. “I think he might have been this guy here.” She turned the tablet around and pointed to a color mug shot of a thirtysomething man with light brown hair and schoolboy good looks. “I’m pretty sure this is the one.”

  Candy leaned over to study the photo. “Cute. I think I’d remember him.”

  “Did you see him?” Rand asked.

  Candy shook her head. “Sorry. No.”

  “Are you sure this is the guy?” Randall asked Marlee.

  She nodded. “I remember the way his nose was crooked, and that little dimple in his chin. His hair was a little shorter than in this picture, and he was smiling, but it’s the same guy, I’m sure.”

  “Thanks for your help.” Marco took the tablet and switched it off. “We may have more questions later.”

  “You did great,” Rand said. “Thanks.” He tugged at Lotte’s leash and they headed for the door.

  “Come back anytime,” Candy called. “It’s usually so boring around here.”

  When they were in the cruiser again, Lotte in her place behind them, Marco consulted his notes. “Sounds like Lauren was a busy woman during her short stay here. Do you think she was buying drugs from Alan Milbanks?”

  “Maybe a little self-medication?” Rand shrugged. “Who knows?” He punched some information into his computer. “I’m trying to see what I can find out about Alan Milbanks.”

  “Sounds like the guy was selling more than fish.”