0373447477 (R)

by Shirlee McCoy

“She said something really odd when she was talking about Jarrod. She said, ‘He was nice, handsome and generous. There wasn’t any way I could resist that, and then when I met Jubilee, I was hooked for good.’ Something like that anyway. It struck me for about three seconds, but I was so shocked to see her on my doorstep, I guess I didn’t hold on to it very long.”

  “So, you think that Jarrod had Jubilee when he and Tabitha met?” The possibility intrigued Malone. Tabitha’s description made Jarrod sound like someone who liked to be in control, someone who would insist that he be paid the utmost respect. He didn’t sound like someone who would go out of his way to commit a crime that wouldn’t benefit him. And what good would kidnapping Jubilee have done?

  “I don’t know. That’s the way it sounds, though. Don’t you think?”

  “I think we need to talk to your sister and her husband.”

  “My sister is missing, and Las Vegas is a long way from here.”

  “We’re going to find your sister, and I don’t need to go to Las Vegas to talk to her husband. Stella is very good at getting information we need. I’ll put her on it.”

  She nodded, standing and stretching, a ring on her right hand glinting in the sun. It caught his attention, the narrow gold band enough like a wedding ring for him to wonder if it was one.

  Not his business, but his mouth opened anyway, and he was asking before he could stop himself. “Is that your wedding ring?”

  She frowned, twisting the band. “Yes. People kept telling me to take it off, and move on, but I couldn’t bring myself to not wear it, so I shifted it onto my right hand. I know it seems silly, but—”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “What?” She met his eyes, and he found himself caught in her gaze, noticing a dozen things that he hadn’t seen before. The blue flecks in her eyes. The thickness of her lashes, and the way they brushed her cheeks when she blinked. The smoothness of her skin and the golden strands that seemed woven through her hair.

  “That it seems silly to wear the ring.”

  “Because Cory has been gone for three years, and our marriage ended when he died.”

  “That doesn’t mean you don’t still love him.”

  She shrugged, twirling the ring once and then letting her hand drop. “No one tells you how to move on when someone you love dies or how to stop being the caregiver when the hospital bed that’s sitting in your living room is finally empty.”

  “Was he sick for long?” he asked, imaging that empty bed in the empty room, imaging just how hard that would have been to face alone.

  “In the grand scheme of our marriage? An eternity, but it was really only a year. He had brain cancer, and it took everything from him, and then it took everything from me.” Her cheeks went bright pink, and she frowned. “That sounds really melodramatic.”

  “I don’t think so. I think it sounds like how you feel.”

  “How I felt. Things are back on track now, but I’m still not ready to take off the ring. Not yet, and I don’t even really know why.”

  He thought he did.

  He thought that maybe she couldn’t quite let go of the dreams she’d had when she’d said her vows, that she didn’t really want the good times she’d shared with her husband to be over.

  He could understand that. He could also understand how difficult it would be to let go of forever, to know that a lifetime with someone had only amounted to a few short years.

  “You know what I think, Quinn?” he asked, and she frowned.

  “Do I want to?”

  “Maybe. I think you should wear that ring for as long as you want to. I think you should never feel anything but happy to do it. You’re honoring the memory of what you had with your husband. There’s nothing wrong with that. Now, how about we find Chance? He’s trying to talk the sheriff into letting us leave.”

  “I don’t see why we shouldn’t be able to.”

  “Have you looked around recently?” He gestured to the black field, the blackened exterior of her Jeep, the smoldering barn. Fire crews had put out the fire quickly, but not before property had been destroyed. “There’s been a lot of damage done here today.”

  “We didn’t do it.”

  “No, but they want to make sure that’s the case. If they let us go and find out we were part of this, it will make their office look pretty foolish.”

  “What about the guy you handcuffed? Shouldn’t he be their prime suspect?”

  “His name is Anthony Gray. A small-time thug who is already wanted on a couple of outstanding warrants. He’s already been booked for arson. The sheriff said he’s singing like a jaybird, but he’s not saying much more than he already told us.”

  “What he told us makes me really suspicious of my sister’s husband. Who else would hire someone to kidnap Jubilee?”

  “Good question,” he responded, helping her down nearly rotted wood steps. “Let’s go see what Chance has dug up.”

  “If he’s dug up anything.”

  “Trust me. Chance can find out just about anything about anyone.”

  And Malone was eager to hear what he had to say about Jarrod. Quinn was right. Tabitha’s husband was the only one who would have any motive for kidnapping Jubilee. Did he want the little girl back?

  Or did he want to use her as a pawn to get to Tabitha?

  They needed to find out, because until they understood his motive, they couldn’t predict his next move.

  SEVEN

  There was something about Malone, something that Quinn couldn’t deny or ignore. It made her want to tell him things she hadn’t ever told anyone else. Things about Cory and their life together. About the way it had felt to lose him, to have to move on without the person she’d planned to move forward with. Things she’d never talked about because she didn’t think anyone else could understand.

  Heartache was such a private thing.

  Grief was a journey a person could only ever take alone.

  At least, that’s what she’d always thought. In that first year after Cory’s death, she’d had friends and church—people bringing meals and offering prayer and encouraging her to get out, live life. Eventually, people moved on and expected her to move on, too.

  Malone seemed different.

  He seemed to understand the depth of her heartache. Maybe that came from living his own sorrows. She’d seen him touch his scar, and she’d known there was a story. One he wasn’t ready to tell.

  She glanced his way, saw that he was studying her, his dark eyes skimming her hair and her face, her soot-stained shirt and her filthy sneakers.

  “What? Do I have soot on my face?” she asked, rubbing her palm down her cheek.

  He shook his head. “Just thinking.”

  “About?”

  “Running races without looking at the scenery.

  “Is that code for something?”

  “Maybe.” He smiled, guiding her across the yard and to the SUV, his hand warm on the curve of her waist.

  Chance was leaning against the vehicle, his phone to his ear, his gaze on Stella and August. They were head-to-head, looking at something on August’s phone. Neither seemed to notice that she and Malone had returned.

  Interesting.

  August had dated someone seriously a few years back, but she’d wanted him to give up his job, live a more predictable and safe life. He’d refused. Of course. To August, his job was everything. It consumed him, made him difficult to reach and, sometimes, difficult to talk to. There were long stretches of time when Quinn didn’t hear from him, when her phone calls went unanswered and her texts got ignored. Once, it had gone on so long, she’d hopped in her car and driven to his place. He’d been home, bleary-eyed from whatever job he’d just returned from. She’d made him dinner, stuck around for two nights and listened to him play sad tunes on his guitar. Finally, he’d snapped out of whatever place he’d been in. He’d cheered up, taken her out on a long hike and regaled her with amusing stories about his life. He’d seemed like his old self and
she’d left knowing he was going to be all right.

  She still worried about him. Seeing him with Stella gave her hope that he might find someone he could connect with, someone he could share his other stories with—the darker ones, the ones that he didn’t want to tell Quinn.

  Stella finally looked up, smiling as she tucked a strand of bright red hair behind her ear. She had a bandage wrapped around her palm, the gauze crisp white. August had fresh bandages as well, his sleeve cut away, his shoulder padded by gauze and tape.

  “Did your first-aid kit survive the fire?” Quinn asked Stella.

  “Nah. I borrowed one from the police. Who, I might add, are taking their sweet time clearing us to leave.”

  “That’s okay,” Chance said, shoving his phone into his pocket. “Some of us put the time to good use.”

  “Some of us,” Stella retorted, “aren’t workhorses.”

  There was an undercurrent between the two, some unspoken feelings that pulsed through the air every time they looked in each other’s eyes. Had they been a couple? If so, they didn’t seem to have ended things well.

  “Workhorses get things done, and they find out interesting facts.”

  “Like?” Malone asked.

  “Jarrod Williams used to be affiliated with a cult that got shut down for running drugs and guns into the US from Mexico. At the time, he went by the name Jerry Cornwall. Guess he decided to change it once he left. I sent the information to Boone. If it’s the same cult his ex was in, we may have a link between Jarrod and Jubilee that precedes Jubilee’s relationship with Tabitha.”

  “Which means that Tabitha didn’t kidnap Jubilee?” Quinn had doubted her sister’s ability to do such a thing, and this seemed to support that doubt.

  “At this point, I’m not sure what it means. It’s possible your sister and Jarrod met in the cult and reconnected a couple of years later. It’s also possible that Jarrod was in the cult, met Jubilee’s mother and somehow ended up with the kid. I’ve passed the information to law enforcement. They’re digging deeper.”

  “It seems to me,” Malone said, “that the police have probable cause to bring Williams in for questioning.”

  “Probable cause for what crime?” Chance sighed, raking his fingers through thick chestnut hair. “If Boone’s ex handed the kid over, Williams has been raising her like his own because he was asked to. The FBI plans to question him when he returns from overseas, but—”

  “Are they sure he’s out of country?” Stella cut in.

  “He boarded a plane in Las Vegas, landed in Baltimore and boarded a flight for London a few hours later. That’s all verified. He’s expected to return Wednesday.”

  “He’s got plenty of money. It seems to me,” Malone said, “that he could have had someone take his place on the outward-bound flight to London. All he had to do was pay someone to buy a ticket, have them go through security and meet near the gate. They exchange boarding passes and the stand-in boards the flight.”

  “That’s a lot of effort to get back at his wife,” August pointed out. “Especially when he could have hired someone to take care of things while he was gone, made sure his alibi was airtight. If the FBI is suspicious enough, they can pull security footage to verify his presence on the plane. There are cameras all over the airports.”

  Malone shrugged, his broad shoulders pulling the fabric of his T-shirt taut. “It might not be about getting back at his wife. We’ve been focused on the kid, the things Tabitha supposedly stole. But Jarrod Williams isn’t who he’s pretending to be. The fact that he’s changed his name at least once, been involved in an organization that was breaking the law, is a good indication that he has things to hide. What if Tabitha knew some of those things? What if she ran because she was afraid?”

  “And made him afraid?” Quinn hadn’t thought about that. Her sister was good at conning people. She knew how to work a mark and how to get what she wanted. She’d have recognized underhanded dealings, and she’d have known Jarrod was a fake.

  Knowing her, she wouldn’t have cared.

  Money was everything.

  Until Jubilee became part of her life? Had nurturing the little girl made her want to clean up her act, get things right?

  That’s what Quinn wanted to think.

  Only Tabitha knew for sure.

  Tabitha...

  Was she okay? Hurt? Alive?

  She shuddered, the thought of her sister lying somewhere injured—or worse—filling her with dread.

  “If she knows something that he doesn’t want anyone else to find out, then yes,” Malone said quietly, his hand sweeping up her arm and settling on her shoulder. “We’ll find her, and we’ll figure it all out.”

  “The best way to do that,” Stella remarked, her short hair springing in a hundred different directions, “is to find that husband of hers. Every word anyone says seems to lead us in that direction. Anyone have his phone number? I might be able to get a handle on where he is. Or, at least, how soon he can be in the New England area.”

  “How—?” Quinn started to say, but Chance was already rattling off a number that he said he’d gotten from a friend who worked for Las Vegas police, and Stella was punching it into her phone. She waited while it rang, a satisfied smile on her face.

  Jarrod’s voice mail must have picked up, because Stella left a short message about being a real estate developer in Boston and wanting to break into the Las Vegas market. She said she’d been following Jarrod’s career and was intrigued. She’d put up three-quarters of the capital for a fifty-fifty partnership. All he had to do was find the right project. She left a name—not hers. A couple of numbers. Ended the call, the satisfied smile still on her face.

  “That should do it. If he’s as keen on money and prestige as everyone seems to think, it won’t take long for him to call me back.”

  “Don’t you think he’ll check out your story first?” August frowned. “The guy knows the police and FBI are investigating. He’s got to know that they’re checking out his story.”

  “I gave him the name of a friend who is a real estate developer in Boston. She’s a navy buddy.” She typed a text message as she spoke, sent it, her smile broadening. “And, now she’s been informed. She’ll play along. If he calls her office, she’s going to claim to be my assistant and direct him to my cell phone number. I do love when things work out.” She sighed happily. “Now, how about we find the police and get cleared to leave? I’ve got a hot date next weekend, and I want to be well rested for it.”

  She strode off, her hair gleaming in the sunlight, her jeans black from smoke.

  “Wow,” Quinn murmured.

  “Yeah,” Malone responded, his breath ruffling her hair, his hand still warm on her shoulder. “She’s something.”

  “She’s what I want to be when I grow up,” Quinn responded. The confidence. The assertiveness. The ability to solve problems. Those were things she was constantly striving for and wasn’t sure she’d ever achieve.

  “No,” Malone said. Just that one word, and she met his eyes, looked long enough to see hints of gold in the deep brown irises. He had stunning eyes, thick lashes, and that scar that seemed to only add to his tough good looks.

  “No what?” she asked.

  “No, you don’t want to grow up to be Stella, because that would mean not growing up to be you, and I kind of like the you I’ve gotten to know. Looks like the police cleared us.” His hand slipped away from her shoulder, and he gestured to Stella who was running toward them, a pink backpack dangling over her arm, her free hand waving wildly.

  “They’ve cleared us to go,” she called. “Let’s get out of here while the getting is good! This yours or the kid’s?” She shoved the backpack into Quinn’s arms.

  “Jubilee’s. I should have given it to CPS. I wasn’t thinking clearly.”

  “Did you look in it?” Malone asked, taking the pack from her hands.

  “Yes. My sister’s priorities are different than mine. Either that or she let Jubilee pack
. There are a couple of stuffed animals, a few books and a change of clothes.” There’d been a small photo album, too. Pictures of Jubilee and a man who must have been Jarrod. Photos of Christmas gifts and birthday parties. One page had a Post-it note with Quinn’s name scribbled across the front of it. She’d only had time to glance at the picture of a man who’d looked a few decades older than Jarrod and Tabitha. A friend of theirs? One of Jarrod’s parents? She’d had no idea, and she’d been in too much of a rush to take it out of the album and look more closely.

  “Not much seeing as how the kid was leaving home for good.”

  “I know.”

  “Get in!” Stella demanded, gunning the engine for emphasis.

  In seconds, they were on the road, speeding north toward Maine. Hopefully, they could follow Tabitha’s trail from there.

  “I wonder if Agent Spellings is done with my phone, and if there were any more phone calls while she had it?” she said aloud. “If Tabitha is in danger—”

  “I got a call about that, sis,” August interrupted. “Sorry. So much happened I forgot to tell you. They’ve determined that the scream was dubbed. They also found the phone.”

  “Where?”

  “Dropped in a trash can just outside of Echo Lake. They dusted for prints. Found Tabitha’s and an unknown set. Probably the guy who made the call.”

  “No sign of Tabitha, though? Did they see any of her clothes? Her purse?” Quinn could imagine her sister, tied up and gagged, lying somewhere alone.

  Please, God, let her be okay.

  The silent prayer filled her mind, and she wondered if she’d get the answer she wanted. Something more than the no she’d received when she’d begged for Cory to be healed.

  God’s ways are best. That’s what all her friends had said, but it didn’t feel best when someone you loved was sick and hurting and God didn’t provide the healing they so desperately needed.

  “Quinn,” August said. “You need to stop worrying about Tabitha. She’s fine. She staged this whole thing so that the police would point fingers at her husband and forget that she stole hundreds of thousands of dollars’ worth of cash and jewelry.”