Wanting (PAVAD)

by Calle J. Brookes

  “Had she been in legal trouble before?”

  “No. From what I know it’s just been regular rebellion and petty behavioral issues. Nothing that half the kids her age don’t do anyway.”

  “What about the home life? Parents?” she asked.

  “Just her mother. Father left six years ago. Minimal contact since then, according to her mother,” Sebastian said.

  “Is there a chance she went to him?” Carrie asked. A few more commands had the man’s driver’s license photo on a screen and a variety of information pertaining to him. Aaron Cavanaugh was forty-four years old and living four hours away in Louisville, Kentucky. “Has anyone talked to him?”

  “Not that’s listed. Let’s go.”

  “Now?” Carrie asked. “Shouldn’t we wait until morning?”

  He didn’t miss the way her face had paled. “What is it, Carrie?”

  “I don’t like car rides at night. Especially long ones.” She practically whispered the words, eyes wide and unconsciously pleading. He wasn’t immune to the effect. The last woman in the Bureau he was immune to was Carrie Sparks. “Bad things always happen.”

  Sebastian reevaluated, then looked at the watch on his right arm. “You’re right. It’d be nearly three a.m. when we got there, anyway. Why don’t we call it for the night, and leave first thing in the morning?”

  “Ok. I can do that.” She started closing down the machines one by one, leaving the final one running. “I’m going to search her IP paths, see if there are any internet accounts we may have missed. But it will take a few hours.”

  “I’ll pick you up at 6:30 in the morning. Be ready.”

  “I will.”

  Chapter 4

  *****

  The redhead was waiting on the curb when he parked his car. She clutched that black leather computer bag in one hand and had a dark green backpack slung over her shoulder. She wore jeans, tight and faded, with a navy shirt. A blue bandana held her hair back from her face. She looked like a college co-ed and absolutely nothing like the federal agent he knew her to be. He parked the car and climbed out, crossing to her hurriedly. “Carrie, why didn’t you wait inside?”

  “Wanted to be ready,” she said, hand tightening on her computer bag. Sebastian didn’t even make a move to take it from her. He didn’t want to invade her space again. He’d given it a lot of thought and he’d decided not to do anything to make her any more uncomfortable with him than he already had.

  “It’s not safe standing out here. It’s still dark out.” Sebastian put one hand casually on her back, not missing how she stiffened. She did that every time he touched her, but she relaxed more quickly this time than she had the last. Sebastian hoped that meant she was getting used to him. “Come on, let’s get moving.”

  She was silent for most of the trip. Sebastian didn’t protest, just let her have her time. He stopped once, at a fast food place, before they continued. She still spoke little. “You’re awfully quiet, anything wrong?”

  “I don’t like car rides.” He looked at her in time to catch her shrug.

  “Any particular reason why?”

  “Seatbelts hurt, curves make me dizzy. You know I have sensory issues.”

  “And flying?” He asked, remembering how she’d grasped the seat between them the first time they’d flown together. He knew how certain things bothered her—everyone did. Bright lights, loud noises, strong smells, she avoided all of those things when possible. “Why does it bother you?”

  “Sometimes, planes crash.” Carrie looked at him. “I prefer trains, or walking. I also like running. It relaxes me.”

  “You jog?” He had a sudden image of her in skimpy shorts, long legs pumping as she ran. It was a good image, a great image. One he wouldn’t be forgetting any time soon.

  “No. I run. Just get out on the track at work, and go. Fast as I can go. I haven’t been able to run much since South Dakota. I’m not quite finished with physical therapy yet.”

  “So what do you like about running?” He avoided talking about what had happened to her in South Dakota. When they’d first met, she’d still been bruised from Agent Stephenson’s attack. Sebastian would never forget how vulnerable and frightened she had appeared. How each bruise visible on her face and arms had made him angry on her behalf. If Stephenson hadn’t been caught later that evening Sebastian couldn’t have promised he wouldn’t have been hunting for Carrie’s attacker himself.

  The older man had suffered a psychotic break two months earlier. He’d attacked Carrie in the woods, thrown her over a small cliff. She’d recently had the cast from the broken leg removed. Stephenson had completely lost it and kidnapped her teammate Georgia Dennis. Carrie had been so terrified. The expression that had been on her face when Georgia had been spotted tied up in the basement on the Division’s security monitors was one Sebastian would never forget.

  Carrie had told Hellbrook once that Sebastian and Stephenson wore the same cologne. Hellbrook had passed that information on. Sebastian switched brands the next day. He’d wanted nothing about himself to remind Carrie of the older man.

  “The wind, the blood moving, the freedom,” Carrie told him, fiddling with the small gold pendant she wore every day. “Feet hitting the pavement, beating against the stone. It’s beautiful.”

  “Yes, I’m sure it is.” Sebastian’s voice came out strangled, but he doubted she heard. The image in his head had kept up with her words, running faster and faster across his mind. Short, tight shorts, barely-there shirt. Yes, when she started running again, he’d make a point to go watch. “Did you find anything else after I left last night?”

  “Nothing that stood out. I also made a few phone calls to the local shelters and hostels I have contacts at. So far Ashleigh Cavanaugh hasn’t been to any of them, though the generic physical description fits any number of girls that pass through there. Girls are always the hardest to pin down, sir.”

  “And why is that?”

  “Because once girls hit the streets they tend to disappear. Especially blue-eyed blondes,” Carrie said, grimly.

  “And you? What happened when you first ran away?” Sebastian asked as he maneuvered the car onto the Interstate. She was a beautiful woman and had probably been a beautiful girl. Vulnerable for so many reasons. “Tell me. Maybe Ashleigh’s done the same thing.”

  “First thing I did was find a place to hide,” Carrie said as her arms tightened around the computer bag in her lap. “I was afraid.”

  “Of what? Tell me.” He kept his voice soft, though he knew that she’d answer. He’d figured out quickly that she was a stickler for proper protocol and the hierarchy of the Bureau. If a superior agent asked her for information, Carrie would automatically give it.

  “I was afraid that they were behind me; my foster parents. I didn’t want to be found. I was afraid of the other people on the streets. They looked so terrifying, mean, and crazy. Afraid of Social Services. I didn’t know what I was doing back then and it was so overwhelming.” Her words came softly and he glanced at her.

  He reached over and pulled her hand to rest between them unthinkingly. She didn’t resist, so lost in memories that she was oblivious to him. Her hand was small, fragile beneath his.

  “How long did that last? What did you do next?” Sebastian admitted to a deep curiosity about Carrie Sparks, a curiosity that was fast growing with each interaction they had. “Tell me, Carrie.”

  “I hid. Not at a hostel, but in the back of an old church. Hid my stuff beneath floorboards. Like they’d done in a movie. I’d seen it with Jeremy.”

  “Jeremy?”

  “My foster brother. We always watched movies together. He’d given me money, you see. To run away with. Even bought the bus ticket for me. He was old enough. I wasn’t.”

  Sebastian ruthlessly shoved his curiosity to the back burner. They weren’t there to rehash her history, but to find a missing fourteen-year-old. But still, why would an adult foster brother felt the need to help a fifteen-year-old special needs c
hild run away?

  It didn’t sit right with Sebastian. None of it did. What had happened to her? Why had she run away? The questions burned on his tongue, but weren’t any of his business. He bit them back. “How did you know to go there? How long were you on the bus?”

  “Eight hours. Went from Oklahoma to as far as I could go,” Carrie said. The tapping of her fingers increased. “But it was different back then. Getting a bus ticket wasn’t that hard, riding one alone wasn’t that hard. Hiding wasn’t that hard. Not like today with all the added security measures put into place.”

  “What did you do next?”

  “Stayed all day in the old church. I had my computer. The power was still on, probably to discourage vandals, so I worked on it all day.”

  “Your computer?”

  “An old laptop. Big, ugly, clunky. Jeremy gave it to me as a present. To say he was sorry for what had happened.” Her words were matter-of-fact, and he doubted she even realized how she was fueling his curiosity. “I practiced code and worked on software. We didn’t have the internet then. Not really. At least, not as easily accessed. So I just taught myself code during the day after looking at the documents Jeremy had left on the hard drive. He was in college, studying computer science. Then, when it was dark, I went looking for something to eat. That’s what was hard. It took me three days and seven hours to find something to eat. I found Paige instead; she found food. She’d been on the streets for two years by then.”

  She was quiet for a moment, and Sebastian remained silent as well. What was he supposed to say? He hated the thought of Carrie and Paige living that kind of existence. They both had deserved better.

  “Did Ashleigh’s mom say if she took any money with her?” she asked.

  “No. She was given a weekly allowance. Twenty dollars. But her mother didn’t know whether she’d saved any of that or spent it. She also babysat occasionally.”

  “What sort of communication existed between Ashleigh and her mother?”

  “Not much, from what I gather. But Sherry just thought it was natural for a fourteen-year-old girl to pull away from her mother.” Sebastian’s mouth tightened. He had his doubts that Sherry had fully understood the girl’s behavior.

  “When did it start? If we have a time frame we might be able to narrow down what caused her to run.” Carrie gripped the door handle tightly when he took another sharp turn.

  “Does medication help?” he asked, noticing how she’d turned pale. Sympathy rushed him.

  “No. I don’t take many medications because of side effects.” She shook her head, then pulled on the seatbelt a few times. She took a deep breath before continuing. Composed herself in almost an instant. When had she learned to do that? He admired her ability to rein in how she felt in any moment. He half-wished he’d learned the same skill. “You said she’s caused trouble before. Before. Probably something happened to her around the first time. Probably. But what was it?”

  “A week ago, her teachers sent the first notice that her grades had slipped,” Sebastian said, mentally reviewing what he’d read in the file while he maneuvered the car through the interstate traffic. “And her grades had been declining for at least two weeks at that point.”

  “So we’re looking at something at least three weeks ago.” Carrie pulled her smallest laptop free of her bag. Sebastian wondered just how much that computer bag of hers weighed; it was crammed with two laptops and various accessories and her paper copies of the files. Combined with her backpack she’d crammed in the floorboard, it was probably not that light of a burden. “Do you remember reading anything online about that time period? Anything in her blogs or emails?”

  “Not off the top of my head. We’ll check when we stop for lunch,” Sebastian said. “What do we know about Ashleigh’s father?”

  Carrie made a few quick strokes of the keyboard. “Aaron Cavanaugh. Currently lives in Louisville, where he works as a construction foreman. And a seemingly successful one, if his tax return is anything to go by. He’s had two parking tickets, one speeding ticket, and a civil suit against a neighbor—all in the last year.”

  Sebastian frowned. “Sounds ordinary.”

  “Typical. I can go deeper, but it will take time.” He heard her fingers flying over the keyboard.

  “See what you can find. Have you been able to isolate any emails or texts she sent to her father?” Sebastian remembered the girl from the few times he’d met her. She was a little on the quiet side; he’d pegged her as being bookish. He’d heard she did well in school, at least throughout elementary. When had that changed?

  “She sent him an email every day, from what I can find. Just ‘Hi, dad, I got an A on my history test; Mom is getting on my nerves. When can I come visit you again?’ type of things. Nothing that says she’s going to run away soon.”

  “What are those types of indicators? What do you know about it?”

  She sighed. “I’ve seen so many kids in St. Louis who’ve run away…it starts with antisocial behavior, withdrawal from family events, many have sleep issues, and start running around with a different set of friends. Friends who often have reputations for deviant behaviors. They also may have signs of inability to control themselves or their emotions. School issues.” The tapping increased, her fingers drumming against the side of the laptop. “According to the blog entries I found, Ashleigh definitely exhibited several of these. Why didn’t her mother see?”

  Sebastian thought of the Sherry he knew. She was good-hearted, he couldn’t deny that. And he knew she loved her daughter, but Sherry had never been good at observing things. Had almost always buried her head in the sand when problems presented. “Sherry’s always been good at avoidance. She probably didn’t want to admit there was a problem.”

  “So she just ignored the signs. And Ashleigh had no choice but to run. It isn’t fair.” The heat in her voice surprised him. Carrie Sparks was so rarely passionate about anything in front of him. That had his mind drifting for a moment toward other areas she might be passionate in

  “Did you exhibit the signs, Carrie? When you ran?”

  “I’ve thought about it, several times over the last few years. I didn’t exhibit the signs. I always had good grades. I didn’t have any friends, good or bad. I was the weird foster girl who preferred computers to real people. I hated to be touched. Still do. I had no real family so I wasn’t close enough to anyone to start pulling away. My emotions were often out of control. Wildly so. I have sensory issues and Aspergers, you know that. Everyone knows that. I had been diagnosed two years before I ended up with the Ellisons. But other than diagnosis, I’d had no real treatment. Not until college, when I sought it out myself. Behavioral therapy was a godsend for me. Now I can deal with it. Then I would freak over little things. Even rain. Or wind on my skin.”

  “So why did you run?”

  “Jeremy. He told me I had to. I know now that was his way of protecting himself, not me...”

  “Why? How old was he?”

  “Twenty. I was fifteen. He didn’t want to get in trouble, or go to jail. He also said his parents, my foster parents, would blame me. Because I trusted him, I believed him. So I ran.”

  “Blame you? You were a child!” Sebastian had a strong suspicion what the bastard had done to a fifteen year old girl.

  “Even at fifteen, Agent Lorcan, I was not a child.”

  Sebastian would argue that. That the bastard would convince her to run, that was reprehensible. Someday, he hoped he ran into the man. Fifteen minutes alone with him would be all he’d need.

  ***

  They stopped for lunch and to go over the files one more time around eleven.

  Sebastian followed her into the diner, not blind to the looks she garnered. She was young and exotically beautiful. She was bound to draw attention wherever she went. Had she even noticed?

  How had she stayed under the radar for so many years? Had her foster parents not looked for her?

  Sebastian knew that was probably the truth of it. So man
y foster kids ran away each day, there was no way the system could keep up with them.

  But still, a beautiful redhead like Carrie? He would think someone would have found her if they’d looked hard enough. He’d look hard enough and they would find Ashleigh. He wouldn’t stop until they did.

  Carrie seemed completely unaware of the diners around them, but by the time they reached their table, Sebastian had catalogued every person in the restaurant. Habit; one that had kept him alive on many occasions.

  She waited until the waitress left with their orders before pulling a file from the bag. “Ashleigh exhibited several warning signs. Most runaways do. But I think there is something else. What do you know about her mother?”

  “Sherry is a nice woman. She’s not extremely smart, somewhere on the average end of the scale. She’s good at making small talk, at putting people at ease. But whenever there’s a problem, she tends to back away. She is definitely non-confrontational. Always has been. She’s a hostess at a mid-end restaurant. She’s been there ten years, I think. She receives alimony and child support and lives standard middle class. She’s a good parent, Carrie. I’ve seen evidence of that myself. That’s why this surprises me. And makes me think it isn’t a typical case of running away.”

  “I’ve got that impression, too.” She surprised him, darting a small hand out to cover his where his rested on the table for a moment. Had she ever touched him before? He didn’t think so. “We’ll find her. I know we will. And most runaways do go home eventually. Ashleigh will be one of those statistics.”

  They discussed the case more, running possible scenarios back and forth. They didn’t even know why the girl had run away. Until they found that information and got a few viable clues, they had virtually nothing. Sebastian stood. “Come on.”

  Carrie looked up at him, surprise evident on her face. “What is it?”

  “We need to speak with Cavanaugh; let’s go find him.”

  Chapter 5

  *****