by T. R. Ragan
“It’s on,” she said with her own mischievous grin, and for the next few minutes they locked gazes and did their own stylized version of the twist. When it was over, people clapped, making Jessie blush.
“One more dance,” he said when the DJ played “Can’t Help Falling in Love” by Elvis Presley. Before she could answer him one way or another, Colin pulled her close against his chest.
“I didn’t know you could dance,” she said, enjoying the feel of his arms wrapped around her waist.
“It’s been so long,” he said. “I wasn’t sure if I still had any moves.”
She couldn’t remember the last time she’d had this much fun.
“I feel like I’m back at my high school prom,” he told her.
“I never went.”
He pulled away slightly, his expression one of astonishment. “Stay right here.”
She stood in the middle of the dance floor and waited while people danced around her. Colin was back in under a minute with a daisy that he gently tucked behind her ear. “There. Your corsage.”
She thought the gesture was sweet. “Thank you.”
They finished the dance and then walked off hand in hand. “After the bride cuts the cake, what do you say we drive through the automatic car wash and make out?”
She laughed. “Is that a thing?”
“Are you kidding? For at least five glorious spot-rinsing minutes you’ll be transported to another world.”
The thought of making out with him made her insides flutter in a good way. Before she could respond, his phone buzzed.
She watched his expression change as he listened to the caller. Whatever it was, it couldn’t be good.
“What is it?” she asked after he was finished.
“My father.”
She had met his parents only once before. They were in their late seventies and lived on ten acres in Rio Linda, over twenty miles away. “Is he okay?”
“He’s had a stroke. I’ve got to get to the hospital.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Me, too. I dragged you all this way and now—”
“Colin,” she said, stopping him from finishing. “Don’t worry about me. I can go to the hospital with you.”
“Come on,” he said, taking her hand in his. “I’ll drop you off on the way.”
ELEVEN
First thing Monday morning, he read the front page once, twice, and then again.
There was nothing there.
In disbelief, he skimmed the entire newspaper.
He stood, his hands shaking as he crumpled the paper in his fists and tossed it aside.
Owen Shepard had let Hannah die, but not before making her suffer hour after hour, day after day. Endless whimpering cries as she tried to get comfortable enough to sleep. When the pain became unbearable, his daughter had asked him to end her life. It was the only way she said would end the pain.
But he’d been weak.
Now, looking back, he wished with every part of his being that he’d done what she’d asked.
It was Owen Shepard’s fault that Tyler McDonald was dead, too, and that another innocent life would be taken soon. The anger inside him was growing stronger, fed at first by the need to see that changes were made and that others like his daughter didn’t needlessly suffer. But now it was becoming more about teaching Owen Shepard and everyone who worked for DHI a lesson.
As he made his way to the garage, his body vibrated with hatred. He would kill as many people as it took to get Owen Shepard’s attention. Ten. Twenty. Thirty. It didn’t matter. He glanced at the clock. It was early. He had plenty of time.
In a burst of energy, he went to his room and hurriedly dressed. He then grabbed the duffel bag he’d packed in the event Owen Shepard didn’t cooperate. Inside the bag were his gloves, cuffs, rope, gun, video recorder, and Taser.
His movements were robotic as he grabbed his keys from the bowl on the kitchen counter and made his way to the garage, where he climbed behind the wheel and started the engine. As the garage door whirred open, he slipped on his gloves.
His next-door neighbor waved as he passed by.
Despite the rage flowing through his veins, he thought of his wife and how she would have liked the neighborhood. Hannah, on the other hand, had always talked about living in a big city. In an apartment with lots of windows, where she could see the skyline in the distance. He swallowed. His eyes watered. He kept his hands steady at ten and two o’clock, and he kept his eyes on the road.
It took him fourteen minutes to get to Jefferson Boulevard. He pulled into the parking lot, drove to the back lot where he knew Brad Elton, CFO of DHI, parked every day of the week.
He had done his research.
One thing he had that most people didn’t was time. He had plenty of time to get it right. He’d chosen the CFO as his next victim for two reasons: because of where he parked—an area that lacked cameras—and because he arrived earlier than other DHI employees did.
He parked. Turned off the engine. Waited.
Despite the morning’s chill, sweat formed in a light sheen on his forehead. He wiped it away with his sleeve.
Exactly sixteen minutes later, Brad Elton pulled his sleek black BMW into his allotted parking space.
He climbed out of the car when he saw the BMW pull into the lot. “Excuse me,” he called when Brad exited his car.
The CFO turned around.
Waving a crumpled piece of paper through the air, he said, “You wouldn’t happen to know where I could find a Victoria Hadley, would you?”
Brad gave him the once-over. “Mind telling me why you’re looking for Victoria?”
A little research on the Internet had made it easy to learn that Brad had been dating Victoria for the past six months. “Just an Uber driver trying to do his job,” he said cheerfully.
“Victoria doesn’t work here.”
“Well that’s odd,” he said with an exaggerated frown. “She called me less than fifteen minutes ago saying she needed a ride and specifically asked me to meet her in the back parking lot.” He acted as if he was going to hand the note to Brad to read for himself and then purposely dropped it. The wad of paper rolled to the ground close to Brad’s feet. When Brad bent down to pick up the note, he pulled out the Taser hidden under his coat and struck the CFO right between his neck and collarbone.
Brad dropped like a swatted fly, his arms and legs stiff, his body dancing from the electric charge.
Thankfully nobody was around.
He worked quickly, his heart racing as he opened the back door of his car, grabbed hold of Brad’s upper body, and pushed him more than halfway into the back seat. He then rushed to the other side and dragged him all the way inside.
Doing his best to stay calm, he zapped Brad twice more, then made quick work of cuffing his wrists and tying his ankles. Moving fast, he closed the doors, picked up Brad’s briefcase, then slipped behind the wheel and drove off.
TWELVE
After going over the Dakota Bale abduction case for the umpteenth time—something Jessie did with every one of her investigations to get to know the case inside out before she got started—Jessie realized there was no great place to begin.
She tried not to pay too much attention to the conclusions the police came to in their reports because she didn’t want to be swayed by deductions from the past. The only way to solve an old case was through analyzing the evidence and witness interviews. For that reason, she figured she would begin by reaching out to the women Ashley had mentioned when they had talked in person. Starting with Rose Helg.
Rose had been Ashley Bale’s coworker when Ashley was pregnant with Dakota. After suffering a series of miscarriages and then divorcing her husband, Rose had registered with a sperm bank and finally been able to conceive. She and her three-year-old daughter lived in Rocklin.
On the drive there, Jessie went over the facts of the case: Dakota Bale had been born early on a Sunday morning at Mercy General. Hours after the last visi
tor left, Ashley Bale was given the choice of keeping the baby in her room overnight or having her newborn sleep in the nursery. After ten hours of labor and a long day of visiting friends and family, she was exhausted, and so she didn’t hesitate to opt for the latter.
A decision she would regret every second of every day since.
In the wee hours of the night, Ashley had hit the button wrapped around the hospital bed railing and asked the nurse to bring her baby to her. But Dakota was nowhere to be found.
It was clear from reading her journals that Ashley blamed herself for Dakota’s abduction. She also seemed certain everyone else, including her husband, blamed her, too.
Ashley Bale felt as if she was being judged.
And it was no wonder.
Jessie had cringed as she read the articles that were now yellowed and flattened within the scrapbook pages. Some of the articles were about new moms who opted to breastfeed in public, or not breastfeed at all. It seemed to Jessie that mothers were damned if they did and damned if they didn’t. If you worked outside of the home, you should be ashamed; if you were a stay-at-a-home mom, you were lazy. New mothers couldn’t win.
After receiving an e-mail from Ashley that included pictures of her and her husband at the age of seven, along with the names of and other pertinent information about visitors on the day Dakota was born, Jessie made her own list of suspects. She didn’t care whether or not authorities had determined the people in question were innocent. She would start fresh. Just as Ben Morrison had done when he’d helped her search for her missing sister.
Ben Morrison.
A wave of guilt swept through her. She hadn’t talked to Ben since Sophie’s funeral. If not for Ben, she might never have discovered what happened to Sophie. If not for Ben, she would have likely been killed by a madman. She owed him her life, and yet she hadn’t called him to say hello or find out how he was doing. She made a mental note to do just that.
It was nine o’clock when Jessie pulled up in front of Rose’s house, a small one-story home on a quiet street. She grabbed her bag and headed across the walkway to the front door. Before she could knock a second time, Rose opened the door.
Jessie introduced herself, told Rose she was a detective working on a cold case concerning the abduction of Dakota Bale.
“You’re in luck,” Rose said. “I just made a pot of coffee. Would you like to come inside?”
“I would love to. I won’t take too much of your time.”
Rose’s little girl was in the living room, sprawled out on the carpet, scribbling in a coloring book while Beauty and the Beast played on a big-screen TV.
“How is Ashley?” Rose asked as she poured them both a cup of coffee and gestured for her to have a seat at the kitchen table.
“She’s busy with her twin boys but still struggles with not knowing what happened to her daughter.”
“Understandable. And what about her husband?”
“I haven’t met him,” Jessie told her, “but I’m sure it isn’t easy for either of them.”
“Are they still married?”
Jessie nodded. “Were they having problems back then?”
“Ashley didn’t mention anything to you?”
“No.”
“Hmm. Interesting.” She flicked a finger at Jessie’s untouched mug. “Did you want cream or sugar? I forgot to ask.”
“Black is fine.” Jessie took a sip before she asked, “Did you know Nick?”
“No, not really, although he did show up at the department store every now and then. Based on what little I saw of him, I didn’t like him.”
“Why?”
“We all worked in the back office, and every once in a while Nick would come by unexpectedly. I’ll never forget the time Ashley wasn’t at her desk when he dropped by. He sat right down in front of her computer and checked her browsing history. After that, he sifted through her desk drawers as if he was looking for something.”
“Did anyone ask him what he was doing?”
She shook her head. “No, when Ashley caught him snooping, they argued, something they often did when he called her at work.” Rose exhaled. “Ashley was sweet. We all liked her. She didn’t need to put up with that man.”
“Any idea what Nick might have been looking for that day?” Jessie asked, trying not to come across as too pushy. Jessie had talked to many people over the years, women like Rose Helg, who were bored and eager to talk to someone, even a stranger.
Rose sighed. “Maybe it was only a rumor, but back then it seemed everyone in our department thought Ashley was seeing another man. I think her husband was also suspicious.”
Jessie wondered if it was true. “Any guess as to who the man was rumored to be?”
She paused to think for a moment before shaking her head. “I don’t recall. But I guess I bought into the rumors because Ashley often complained about Nick being overly possessive and controlling.”
“Do you remember seeing Nick on the day you visited Ashley at the hospital?”
“Yes, of course. I’ll never forget how incredibly unhappy he seemed.”
Rose didn’t have much to add after that, so after a bit, Jessie thanked her for her help and made her way back to her car.
Sitting quietly behind the wheel for a moment, she thought about Nick Bale. Possessive and controlling, and he didn’t like the idea of Ashley searching for their daughter. It made no sense to Jessie that he wouldn’t want to be involved in the search, even if it was seven years later.
She straightened as an idea came to her. Maybe Ben Morrison could help her. Using Bluetooth, she scanned her contact list, located Ben’s number, and hit the “Call” button. He answered right away.
“Jessie,” he said. “It’s good to hear from you.”
“I should have called sooner, just to say hello.”
“No worries.”
“I was wondering if I could come by your office. I realize it’s short notice, but I need to talk to you about a missing person’s case.”
“I’d love to see you.”
“Is now a good time?”
“If you don’t mind chaos, come on over.”
“Chaos is my middle name.”
“Sounds as if nothing has changed for either of us.”
As soon as Jessie disconnected her call with Ben, the phone rang. It was Olivia.
“Are you at the store?” Olivia asked without prelude. “We’re out of milk.”
Jessie shook her head. “Hello to you, too. My day has been busy, but fine overall. Thanks for asking.” She swore she could hear her niece rolling her eyes.
“Sorry,” Olivia said. “I wasn’t sure if you remembered that I got out of school early today and we were going to go shopping.”
Damn. She’d forgotten. “Something’s come up. Do you mind if we go shopping this weekend?”
“Fine.”
“I’ll pick up milk on my way home, okay?”
“Sure.”
Jessie pulled out of the parking lot and merged onto the main road. Olivia had recently turned fifteen. She was showing all the signs of being a teenager. Acting sullen, and answering questions with a yes or no. According to a parenting source on the Internet, one-word answers from teenagers were perfectly normal. She’d also read that good parents gave their teenager leeway, which Jessie had always done.
Parents were supposed to choose their battles wisely, talk about rules and discipline way in advance so nobody was caught off guard. Jessie had made the rules she expected Olivia to follow very clear, hadn’t she? She had talked to Olivia about drugs many times. She frowned as she realized they hadn’t discussed sex. It just never seemed necessary. But now she wondered if she’d been naive.
Eyes on the road, Jessie tried to get a kink out of her neck. The thought of failing Olivia weighed heavily on her shoulders. She was doing the best she could, wasn’t she? She’d made a point of keeping the lines of communication open. That was important. And she and Olivia had a plan for every possible scen
ario. For instance, if Olivia was at a friend’s house and a parent had been drinking, Olivia was to call Jessie or Jessie’s good friend Andriana for a ride. Let it go, she told herself as she pulled to a stop at the light.
It was noon by the time she walked inside the Sacramento Tribune’s office where Ben worked and signed in. Before she had a chance to take a seat in the lobby, Ben greeted her with an awkward bear hug, then gestured for her to follow him through a maze of cubicles.
It was good to see him.
Ben was a big guy. Tall and thick in the neck. His accident ten years ago had left him with multiple scars, mostly on his left side. Depending on the lighting and the clothing he wore, the scars sometimes stood out, running down the side of his face, neck, and arm like a river of valleys and ridges.
“Can I get you some coffee, water, anything?” he asked as she followed him across an open area where some of the staff were congregating outside a cafeteria, sipping coffee and chatting during their break.
“No, thanks.”
Ben’s cubicle was a large space partitioned off with tall metal walls. “Will this do or would you rather we talk somewhere more private?”
“This is fine.” She took a seat in the chair in front of his desk. “Beautiful family,” she said, gesturing to the pictures decorating his shelves.
He sort of perked up as he pointed everyone out. “That’s my wife, Melony, and kids, Abigail and Sean.”
“Your son is tall for his age.”
“And I can’t get him to play basketball. It’s a shame.” His head tilted to one side. “Enough about my family. What did you want to talk with me about?”
“Two things. I ran into Owen Shepard over the weekend.” She glanced at her watch. “I’m meeting him at his office at three o’clock to discuss the letters you received from MAH.”
“Interesting. He wants your help with the case?”
“Apparently.” She lowered her voice. “I think he’s more worried about DHI’s reputation than he is about innocent people losing their lives.”
“He hasn’t bothered to return my calls, so I wouldn’t know.” Ben rubbed his chin. “The police are on the case now. I’m sure he realizes that.”