by Tina Folsom
“John.” There was a breathless quality to her reply. “Do you have any news? Did you find something?”
The hope he heard in her voice, the confidence she seemed to have in him, tore at his heartstrings. If only he could give her something that would help her believe that she would get Buffy back.
“Nothing much yet.” He closed his eyes.
“Oh.” Disappointment oozed from this one syllable.
“But we have a possible lead.”
“What kind of lead?”
“It’s too early to tell.” He didn’t want her to act awkwardly around Alexi, alerting him in any way, should he really have something to do with Buffy’s disappearance. “My team and I are following up on it.” At least that wasn’t a lie. “This is just the start. We’re looking at everything. We’ll find her.” He knew he was promising something he couldn’t guarantee. But Savannah needed to hear it. Needed to believe it.
“Thank you, John. I…” She hesitated.
“What’s wrong?” His gaze shot up to the windows of her flat, but he saw no movement.
“I’m scared. It’s been four days now.” There was a sniffling sound, as if she was trying to hold back tears. “I miss her. I miss my baby.”
“I’m doing everything I can.”
“I know that. I just wish there was something I could do. I feel so useless.”
He could only imagine what that feeling must be like and hoped never to have to experience it himself. “I’m sorry, Savannah. I know it’s hard. I know you love her. I will find her for you.”
A slow exhale came through the line. If she started to cry now, he wouldn’t be able to stop himself from running across the street, braving the sun to take her in his arms and comfort her.
“Please, Savannah, you have to hold it together. For Buffy.” And for me.
“I will. Please call me as soon as you hear something.”
“I promise.”
John disconnected the call and set the car in motion, before he could change his mind and do something irresponsible.
He left Savannah’s neighborhood and headed for Cow Hollow, a trendy neighborhood with high home prices and a large number of yoga-pants wearing yuppies, which had been his original destination before his subconscious had sent him in another direction.
The house was tucked away at the bottom of the Lyon steps, its garden backing up to the Presidio. Facing the street and taking up half the width of the lot, was a double garage. John stopped in front of it and let the engine idle, while he scrolled through his phone directory until he found the right contact.
He let it ring. Once, twice, three times. Finally, after the fourth ring, just before it could go to voicemail, a sleepy voice answered.
“During the day? Really, John?”
Deirdre didn’t sound too pleased about being awoken. He was planning to change that.
“I need to talk to you. It can’t wait. Open the garage for me.”
“You’re outside?”
“Yes.”
“Fine.” A few seconds later, the garage door lifted. When it was completely open, he drove in and switched off the engine.
“I’m in,” he said into the phone.
There was a click in the line, then the garage door lowered behind him, shutting out the sun.
Moments later he entered the hallway that led to the living area and the kitchen. He waited there, when he heard footsteps on the wooden stairs leading to the second floor. He looked up. Deirdre, her hair in disarray, dressed in a long black robe, walked down the steps.
“This had better be good,” she said by way of greeting.
“It is,” he assured her.
She motioned to the kitchen and he walked there ahead of her. He’d been here a couple of times after she’d moved in, and had assured himself that the place was vampire-safe. All the windows had been retrofitted with UV-impenetrable film, blocking out the rays of the sun. The house was huge. Deirdre had money, lots of it. It tended to happen when one lived several centuries. Just a matter of compounding interest. But with all her money she couldn’t buy herself a purpose in her new life. He was about to change that.
“You want a drink?”
He shook his head. “I’m good. I’ll feed when I get home.”
She sat down at the kitchen table and he took the unspoken invitation and did the same. “I need your expertise.”
Deirdre raised an eyebrow, showing interest. Good.
“I’m working a case possibly involving a child trafficking ring. I’ve got a couple of people working on it besides myself, but there’s something that’s too sensitive to give to the others. So I thought of you.”
“Don’t trust your own men?”
It wasn’t that he didn’t trust Damian and Benjamin. He did. But this had to be handled by somebody else. Somebody with more experience.
“You’re the better person for it.”
“Shoot.”
“I need you to do a thorough background check on the mother of the last girl that disappeared. Her name is Savannah Rice.” He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out an envelope. “I need to know whether there’s anything about her that doesn’t gel.”
“You’ve met her?”
John nodded.
“So why not check her out yourself?”
He hesitated. There were plenty of reasons why he couldn’t do it. And the fact that he’d kissed Savannah and wanted even more than that from her, definitely played into it. “Let’s just say I’m too close to see everything. I need somebody who can look at her without prejudice.” Without lusting after her. Because if he performed a check on Savannah he was likely to dismiss something as insignificant, because he was already on her side. But it wasn’t how Scanguards worked. They always checked out their clients.
Deirdre reached for the envelope. “Too close, huh?” She cast him an assessing look.
John pointed to the envelope. “You’ll find a temporary access card for Scanguards in there. As well as my login information for the various systems you’ll need in the office.”
“Temporary access?”
John shifted in his chair. It was all he’d been able to rustle up behind upper management’s back. It was all the human staff that worked during the day had been authorized to issue without approval from the two co-chiefs of IT and Internal Security, Thomas and Eddie. Permanent access to Scanguards had to be vetted.
“If you do well on this case, I’ll be able to get you a permanent position.” What a lie. He hadn’t even spoken to Samson or Gabriel about Deirdre’s request yet.
Slowly, she nodded and opened the envelope, pulling out the access pass, a sheet with his usernames and passwords, and another one with the pertinent facts of the case and the person Deirdre needed to investigate. He’d briefly considered his actions when putting together the package, asking himself if he could trust Deirdre with all the sensitive information she would gain access to. But his gut had told him he would know if she betrayed his confidence. As maker and protégée they had a bond, albeit a tenuous one in their particular case.
The envelope also included a photo of Savannah, which he’d taken off her drivers license. Deirdre looked at it for a long while, and John couldn’t stop himself from looking at the photo too.
“Beautiful.” Deirdre suddenly lifted her eyes to him, and he wasn’t fast enough to tear his gaze away from the picture. Something in his protégée’s eyes flashed, and John realized that she was indeed a perceptive woman. A sly smile appeared on her lips. “Tell me what you want to know.”
“Everything. Acquaintances, habits, financials, whatever you can get your hands on. Use my office at Scanguards. You’ll find everything you need there.”
“When do you need it by?”
“Yesterday.”
She rolled her eyes. “Of course. Do I need a key to your office?”
“No. The access card will get you in. But make sure to be gone before sunset.”
She raised an inqui
sitive eyebrow, but didn’t comment. He appreciated that. She was discreet.
“I’ll be getting a few hours of sleep at home. Call me on my cell the second you find something that gives you pause.”
“Even if it means I have to wake you?” She smirked unexpectedly.
“You’re going to work extra fast, aren’t you, just so you can wake me? Isn’t that right?”
“I’m very good at this kind of work, you’ll see.” She patted the envelope. “But you know you need to bring me in on the other stuff too, right?”
“What other stuff?”
“When you find the bad guys and are ready to take them down. I want to be there. I want to help destroy the assholes who’re trafficking kids.”
John rose. “Don’t worry. When we get to that point—and I hope it comes soon—I’ll make sure you’re there and armed to the teeth.”
Deirdre rose and pulled the belt around her robe tighter. “I’m glad we understand each other. Now get out of here so I can get dressed.”
He nodded at her and left.
He knew he could trust Deirdre. She was a well-trained warrior, a woman who’d fought for her race for many centuries. She was no stranger to investigations, but first and foremost she had experience in reading people. She’d sat on a council for many decades, making decisions about life and death, and though one of these decisions had ultimately led to her exile, John wasn’t going to hold this one decision against her.
Just like he hoped that Savannah wouldn’t hold it against him that he was investigating her. It was only for Buffy’s sake. Savannah was in no frame of mind to tell him everything about her life that could have something to do with the kidnappers. It wasn’t even her fault. She wasn’t trained to see connections the way he was. Certain things would seem too insignificant to her to bother mentioning them. But he and Deirdre would see those tiny grains that could lead them to Buffy and the people behind the disappearance of all these girls.
13
Savannah dried off after her shower and slipped into her robe. The warm water had soothed her somewhat, though it couldn’t take away her worries or her fear. After the early morning phone call from John, she’d been at her computer, looking through pictures of Buffy to remind herself of the places they’d visited together in San Francisco. She’d made a list of those places, some of which she’d forgotten. After breakfast, which consisted of coffee and a cracker, her appetite still not having returned, she’d jumped in the shower.
Now, as she reached for the hair dryer, the ringing of the doorbell interrupted her. The sound sent her heartbeat into the stratosphere. She’d never been as jumpy as she’d been in the days since Buffy’s disappearance.
Quickly, she wrapped a towel around her wet hair and rushed to the door. She hurried down the stairs and looked through the peephole at the man who stood outside. She didn’t know him, but she noticed the messenger bag slung across his body. One of the many bicycle messengers businesses used to courier important documents around the city. Had Alexi sent her something from the office? Something she’d forgotten to sign?
She ripped the door open.
“Ms. Rice?”
She nodded. “That’s me.”
He handed her an envelope. “No need to sign anything. Have a nice day.” He turned on his heel and rushed down the front steps to where he’d leaned his bike against the wall of the building.
Savannah closed the door, and walked upstairs into her flat, staring at the envelope. Her name and address were neatly typed on the front, confirming that the letter wasn’t from Alexi: there was no typewriter in the office, and the smudges inside the occurrences of the letter a in Savannah wouldn’t have been made by a printer.
Her heart beat faster now. There was nothing else on the envelope, no indication who might have sent it. But instinctively she knew who the sender was. Felt it in the drum of her pulse, the pounding of her heart in her chest. With trembling fingers, she ripped the envelope open and reached inside.
There were only two items in it: a folded sheet of paper and a smaller piece with a glossy surface on one side. She turned it over and froze. Her hand shot to her mouth to smother a scream.
“Buffy!” she choked out.
The photo depicted her little girl, eyes wide and frightened, sitting on a mattress, holding up a newspaper. Savannah narrowed in on it. It was today’s San Francisco Chronicle. Proof of life, the police called these photos. The thought sent a chill through her. Even before she unfolded the sheet of paper, she knew what it was: a ransom note.
Two emotions collided within her: relief that the kidnappers were finally contacting her, and pain for what she saw in her daughter’s eyes, the look of fear and desperation, the look of lost hope. Buffy didn’t believe that her mother was coming to find her.
“Oh, baby, please hold on for me. I’m coming. Mommy is coming to bring you home.”
Through the tears that started streaming down her cheeks, she read the letter. It was typed.
If you want your daughter Buffy back, bring two-hundred-and-fifty-thousand dollars in cash to the entrance of the Trocadero Clubhouse at Stern Grove at 7:30pm tonight. After you withdraw the money from your bank, don’t go back home. Leave your cell phone at home. Come alone. Do not take a taxi, an Uber or a Lyft. Don’t take your own car. Take public transportation to 19th Avenue, then walk. Don’t tell anyone. If you involve the police, I will find out, and Buffy will die.
I trust you understand these instructions and will carry them out to the letter.
PS. Don’t bother contacting the bicycle courier. The delivery of this letter was charged to an account that leads to a dead end. You won’t find any fingerprints either except for those of the bicycle courier. So don’t try to be smart, Savannah.
And before I forget: Don’t contact that private investigator with the fancy Mercedes you hired, or I’ll make sure he dies, too. And you wouldn’t want that, would you?
She was shaking now. The kidnapper was watching her. He knew about John. He knew about her life. She hurried to the living room window and looked outside. Was he out there right now, watching her, making sure she was complying with his demands? The way he’d addressed her by her first name, as if he knew her, as if he had a right to call her by her first name, sent another shiver down her spine.
Sick bastard!
But it was useless to get upset now. She had to remain calm, decide on her next step. Hadn’t she hoped for this? Hoped to receive a ransom demand so she could pay it and get her daughter back? And now it was here. In her shaking hands.
John had been wrong when he’d thought that Buffy’s disappearance was connected to the other girls’ disappearances. The other parents hadn’t received a ransom note, at least they hadn’t reported it to the police. But she had. And as much as she wanted John by her side to help her over this last hurdle, she couldn’t risk contacting him. What if the kidnapper found out? Then she wouldn’t only have put Buffy at risk, but John too.
Or was there a way to contact John without the kidnapper finding out? She glanced at her cell phone that lay on the coffee table. No, a cell phone conversation was always at risk of being overheard. Then maybe the landline. She still had one for emergencies, but what if somebody had bugged it? Was that how the kidnapper had found out about her hiring John as a private investigator? Because simply seeing John arrive at her condo wouldn’t reveal why he was there. Or had John’s license plate led back to Scanguards, and the kidnapper had put two and two together?
She let out a frustrated sigh. How could she know what mode of communication was safe, when she didn’t know how the kidnapper had found out that she’d hired a PI? Who knew about it? She hadn’t told anybody. Hell, she had barely spoken to anybody after hiring John.
Then it struck her suddenly: Alexi. She’d told Alexi. What if he was involved? He had the technical skills to do a full-scale surveillance of her home and office, her cell phone and landline, even her emails. Shit! And he knew her movements, knew when s
he dropped Buffy at school, knew her routine. Just like he knew that Savannah had sufficient money to pay a ransom. What if he’d gotten access to her account statements and seen that she could access several hundreds of thousands of dollars at a moment’s notice and then formed his plan accordingly?
She cursed under her breath.
But there was nothing she could do. She couldn’t tell John about her suspicions, because if Alexi was monitoring her communications, he would find out. And if he had somebody watching her, then he would know if she went to a payphone or an internet café to contact John from there. No, she couldn’t take the risk. She had to do this on her own. She had to get her baby back.
Savannah dropped the letter and Buffy’s photo on the coffee table and went back to the bathroom to dry her hair. She had to look perfectly normal when she showed up at the bank, so they wouldn’t be suspicious and believe that she was under duress when she withdrew the ransom money. She knew that bank officials were trained to watch out for anything odd and would contact the police once she’d left the bank if they believed she needed help.
Savannah took extra care to dress as if she were going to a business meeting. She was glad that her even, dark skin hid the fact that she hadn’t slept much and had been crying. All she needed was a little bit of concealer around the eyes, and nobody would know that she’d been going through hell the last few days. When she was ready, she sat down at the kitchen table and took a deep breath. She had lots of time to withdraw the money and make her way to the exchange point, but she couldn’t sit around here. It was best to go to the bank early, make sure there was no hitch with getting that much cash, and then wait somewhere within a mile or two of the meeting point, until it was time to make her way there. On foot.
She understood why he didn’t want her to take a taxi or another driving service: somebody would be able to trace her. Maybe that meant the kidnapper suspected that John would try to find her if he couldn’t get a hold of her during the day. If she walked or took public transport, John would have no way of tracking her down, of coming to her aid and snatching the kidnapper once she had Buffy safely in her arms again. The kidnapper—and at this point she had to assume it was Alexi—had thought of everything. Maybe that was the reason it had taken him so long to send the ransom note: he’d had to set things up for a smooth exchange.