by LJ Vickery
“Any idea what they could have been looking for?” Del asked.
“Something small,” Sarge said, turning to precede them into the house. “Because they pulled things off shelves and opened drawers.” He shrugged. “I can’t tell whether they actually located it or not, but the extent of the damage would convey they didn’t.”
If the assholes had located what they wanted, the house would have been torn apart to a point, then left intact thereafter, which wasn’t the case.
“Any idea where Wiley’s girl fits in?”
Sarge shook his head. “No clue. Her car is gone, but as far as I can tell from the pattern of destruction, no struggle took place. So she was either gone when they got here or they confronted her in the driveway. I’ve had a look there, but somebody does a damned good job of snowblowing, and I can’t see shit in the dark. But, Del, because they didn’t find what they were looking for, the probability of her kidnapping increases.”
“Great. And we’ve got nothing. Shit,” Del cursed. “I want every inch of this house gone over again. Any piece of paper with anything written down could be helpful.”
He held up his hand when Sarge opened his mouth.
“I know, Sarge. You’ve already gone through it. But a few more sets of eyes can’t hurt. And if we don’t give Wiley something when he gets here, he’s going to blow his cork.”
Sarge knew that to be true. Wiley was the joker of the bunch, always ready with a quip. But when he went ballistic, the man could grind his own back teeth to dust. “Then let’s do it.” He nodded to Del and everyone went to work.
****
Six hours later, Wiley pulled into Solina’s driveway. The sun had come up, but it hadn’t shaken the darkness from his soul. He’d communicated with his team since he landed, and the news wasn’t good. The guys had found nothing. Zero. How was that possible? There had to be some clue of where Beauty had gone…or who’d taken her.
Her isolated property, which had seemed like a bonus yesterday, now had him wishing there were neighbors who could have witnessed what happened. As soon as he had Solina safely back in his arms, he’d install the best damned security system on the market.
He got out of his car and saw Sarge walking around the driveway, concentrating on the ground.
“Hey,” he growled. “Still nothing?”
“I’m checking the driveway again now that it’s daylight. Going up and down where there are still patches of snow, I can see the tire marks of her car. But I can also see two different tire patterns for large SUV’s. One…” He squatted and looked at Wiley’s tires, “belongs to you. The other is a mystery and actually overlaps the car’s tread marks, so it was the last vehicle in and out.”
“And the house?” Wiley started walking toward it, not sure he wanted to see the destruction the guys had described. But he needed to look. He knew the place better than they did and might be able to spot something missing.
“We’ve gone over it. We can’t find anything that will lead us to the next step.”
Wiley slammed his hand against the porch rail as he walked up the steps. “Fuck,” he howled.
Sarge moved in behind him. “We’ll find her, Wiles. You know we will.”
All he could do was nod. The other guys had been lucky when their women had gone missing. When Bri had been taken, they had a trail left by Del’s genius chemical cocktail. When Mayg was kidnapped, they’d tracked one of the perps, who gave up enough info that they’d been able to locate her. But with Beauty? He couldn’t yet wrap his head around there being no evidence. Nobody was that good…unless it was them.
When he entered the house, all the air left his lungs. Holy hell. Beauty’s well-ordered life lay in a tsunami of disarray. Every small item he’d examined and exclaimed over the past week lay either discarded or crushed on the floor. He imagined her anxiety and dismay when she saw it.
But he couldn’t go there right now.
Putting on his work face, he walked slowly and methodically from room to room. Nothing. As far as he could tell, everything was still near its original location. He walked into her bedroom last.
“Mmrrow?” A furball question sounded from under the bureau.
“Oh yeah,” Sarge called from the next room. “Her cat seems spooked and won’t come out.”
Not true. For some reason, Ostrich had identified Wiley as one of the good guys and slinked out to wind himself around his ankles, talking loudly as he rubbed.
Damned if Wiley didn’t wish the cat could speak English.
He knelt and patted the cat’s head, even going so far as to itch him under his chin when he lifted his face. “Don’t worry, Ostrich. We’ll find her.”
The cat twitched his tail and headed off to the kitchen, presumably for food.
“Can one of you make sure the cat feeder and water get filled,” he shouted to his buddies. He needed to check out the entirety of Beauty’s bedroom.
“On it,” Prez yelled back.
Wiley sat heavily on Solina’s bed and let his gaze travel around the room. The only thing the intruders hadn’t destroyed was her mattress and bedding, although they’d stripped off her comforter.
“So… Something small, but not thin enough to be slipped between her mattress and box spring because they didn’t bother with it,” Sarge offered, appearing in the doorway. “They didn’t slash up her couch, either. Just tossed the cushions and upended it.” Wiley knew his buddy was trying to get him to think harder. “Whatever they wanted was bigger than, say, an inch or two, but no larger than what would fit in these drawers.” He motioned to the bedside table and its overturned contents.
Wiley agreed, but still didn’t have a clue. He perused the floor again.
What the…
He would have laughed if his throat weren’t so tight with worry. A pretty pink vibrator, shaped like a penis, sat amongst the debris. His girl might be innocent, but that obviously didn’t keep her from being adventurous. He dropped a pillow over the thing, but knew it didn’t matter. The guys had already seen it.
“Can you think of any item she might have purchased recently that fits that description?” Sarge continued to probe.
“A bunch.” Wiley scrubbed his head with the palm of his hand. “But as far as I can tell, they’re all accounted for.” Why hadn’t he paid more attention? The answer to that was easy. He’d been more interested in pursuing Solina than in cataloguing her antiques…
He looked at Sarge. “Hey. Have you taken a look in her shop yet?”
He blinked. “What shop?”
“Shit,” Wiley answered, scrambling to his feet. “She owns the store up by the road. I forgot to tell you. There might be something, there.”
Sarge beat him into the living room. “Guys, different twenty,” he barked. “Solina owns the antique store out front. Let’s move.”
They all ran out the front door and up the driveway, arriving at a busted door twenty-two seconds later.
“They’ve been here.” Del stated the obvious. “Let’s see what we can find.”
Wiley went in first and his eyes grew wide. What the fuck? “It looks…normal,” he said.
Prez moved up next to him. “Yeah. I expected another war zone, but nothing seems to be touched.”
“Because they came in knowing exactly where they were supposed to look,” Sarge stated without a trace of doubt. “Which means they have your girl, Wiley. They must have tossed her house, then interrogated her to find the actual location of the item they wanted. In, out, gone.”
Wiley seethed with a combination of hatred and terror. Interrogated meant any number of horrible things he didn’t want to think about. His nostrils flared. “They’d better not fucking touch her, or they’re dead men,” he growled.
“Dead men after we find out where they’ve taken her,” Del supplied calmly. “Now, everybody, look around.”
“I’ll start with her computer.” Sarge had already opened her laptop and was typing away, shaking his head. “Hey, Wiles. Any p
ersonal information that might be useful for her password?”
Wiley dredged up a snort. “Try Ostrich,” he suggested.
“I’m in,” Sarge confirmed a second later.
Wiley moaned. No sense of security whatsoever. He was definitely going to have a long talk with her. His stomach soured. If she were still alive.
“I’m going to concentrate on purchases she made over the past few weeks. If it were something she bought before that, the break-in probably would have occurred sooner,” Sarge mumbled as he typed away.
Wiley silently agreed as his eyes roamed for anything out of the ordinary. His gaze stopped on a big, wrapped package sitting next to Sarge on the desk. “What’s that?” he asked rhetorically, heading over to check it out.
He lifted the tag and drew in a sharp hiss. It was for him, and like puzzle pieces coming together, he instantly knew what they were looking for.
“What?” Every teammate came instantly alert at his small noise.
He read the tag out loud.
“‘Wiley, I plucked this off the shelf because I can’t give you the real thing…yet. Besides, I needed an empty spot for the puzzle box. Merry Christmas. Beauty.’”
“The fucking puzzle box,” Wiley cursed. He turned to his friends. “Find it. See if it’s here.”
Sarge looked up from the computer. “It’s the last thing she entered on her inventory.” He turned and yelled toward Billboard, who stood in front of a far aisle. “It should be in row eight-A, position forty-two.”
Billboard disappeared and they all held their breath. A single word floated up from the back of the shop.
“Empty.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
“You know he’s not going to let me go,” Solina mumbled through rapidly swelling lips. “He’s going to kill me.”
Mary sat up on the couch and shook her head vigorously.
“Mary, we both know it. He keeps you alive because he needs you.” Solina gingerly slipped out her tongue and tasted blood. The gash felt pretty deep. She wondered if it needed stitches. “There’ll be no reason to spare my life once he finds out I’ve told him the truth and the note is in the puzzle.”
Solina forced herself to her feet with a groan. “So, I need to get us out of here as soon as possible.” She staggered and would have fallen if Mary hadn’t leaped to her feet and threaded a surprisingly strong arm around her waist. Solina let herself be led to the couch and lowered slowly to the cushions.
Thankfully, her body didn’t hurt too much. Pietro had managed the one kick to her stomach, which was tender and most likely bruised, but the rest of his assault had taken place on her face and head. Her scalp certainly burned where he’d pulled her hair.
Mary picked up her pen and paper.
Rest for the night. Pietro is a creature of habit, and I’ve been watching him for months. His drugs always come in during the week, but he spends Saturday overseeing the crew who makes his deliveries. He won’t have any time for us. If we plan our escape for tomorrow night, while he’s celebrating the day’s success, we’ll have plenty of time to get away.
Solina wanted to believe her. “If you really think that’s true…”
He never deviates. I promise. Now, come to the bathroom and let me put cold towels on your face.
Solina gave in. Her face was one big throbbing muscle, and cold sounded really good.
When she got to her feet this time, she did it slowly, and the spinning in her head was minimal. Thank God the asshole hadn’t done any damage that seemed permanent…except maybe one tooth in the back that hadn’t settled down yet.
But she was alive. She’d relish in that fact.
Half an hour later, she climbed under the blankets on one side of Mary’s king-sized mattress, while the older woman got in on the opposite side and turned out the light. Despite the pain in her face, her mind and body were spent. A slow tear leaked from one swollen eye. She wanted Wiley. She needed him, but he was in Oklahoma. Solina drifted off imagining him surrounded by his large, happy family.
****
Once they ascertained what was missing, Del wasted no time. “Where did the box come from, Wiles?”
“The auction where we met,” Wiley answered, already headed for the door.
“Are they open on Saturdays?” Del asked, not moving.
Wiley turned back to answer, but Prez beat him to the punch.
“And we care about that why?” he scoffed.
Del snorted. “Because it’s nice to ask the auctioneer for information first…before we say fuck it and break in.”
Sarge looked up from his laptop. “The website doesn’t show any business hours, so we can’t know if there’s anybody there right now.”
“Then stop dicking around and let’s go find out,” Wiley yanked the door open and growled back over his shoulder as he left. “We’ll sweat the details when we get there.”
Del followed him out the door, placing a hand on Wiley’s arm. “We’ll get her back, Wiles. We will.”
“You can’t know that.” Wiley’s throat contracted. Goddammit. How had Beauty become so important to him so quickly? If anything happened to her…
“Yeah, I can. We haven’t failed anybody yet.” Del gripped his shoulder and stepped right up into his face. “Now, I need you to be one hundred percent on this. If you think you’re going off the rails, sit this one out and let the rest of us do our job.”
Wiley wrenched away. “Not on your life,” he snapped. “I’m fine. These assholes are mine.” He turned and strode down the driveway.
The group followed, deciding they’d all pile into one SUV. There were three rows of seats, and even though the two relegated to the back would be uncomfortable, a lower profile when arriving at their destination was preferable.
Ten seconds of argument ensued on who would drive, but Wiley secured point position, as he knew the location of the auction gallery.
“But only if you obey speed limits,” Del warned. “We can’t afford the time a ticket will take.”
Prez snorted. “Speed limit plus seven. No cop will stop us for forty-two in a thirty-five.”
“Just drive,” Del huffed.
On the way, Del called his wife and gave her the short version of where they were and what had occurred, promising to fill her in after they’d gleaned more information. Prez did the same with Mayg.
A short time later, they pulled into the auction house parking lot just as a man was locking up.
“That’s the auctioneer,” Wiley informed them.
Del barked at the four in the back. “You guys stay here. We don’t want to intimidate him.”
“We don’t?” Prez retorted.
“Just sit tight, asshole,” Wiley snarled.
He and Del got out of the vehicle and approached the proprietor. He had a pleasant face and looked at them with open curiosity as they approached.
“What can I do for you, gentlemen?”
Wiley liked that. Right to the point and no bullshit. “We need to know who consigned a certain item with you a few weeks back.”
The man shook his head. “I’m sorry, but we don’t release that information.”
Wiley took a step forward, but Del held him back. He wasn’t going to punch the guy. Just make sure he knew they meant business. He shook Del off and refrained―with difficulty―from getting in the guy’s face.
He growled, “Even if a woman’s life depends on it? Someone you know because she’s here every week?”
“Wh… Who would that be?”
Wiley had to give the auctioneer props. He hadn’t backed away.
“Solina Dalat.”
The man blinked. His eyes got a knowing look, then became concerned. “Ah, shit. This wouldn’t be about a piece she purchased, would it?” Clearly, something had clicked with him.
“Yeah,” Del confirmed. “A small wooden puzzle box. We’re pretty sure someone took it from her home yesterday, and Ms. Dalat is missing.”
“Hell.” The
man ran a hand over the top of his head. “Why didn’t I listen to my gut? Something about that box seemed off from the minute I got it,” he groused. “First, the consignor was pissed that it was mixed in with the stuff we picked up at his house. Then he sent a couple jerks out to get it, but it seemed to have gone missing. After that, he paid me a personal visit and nearly choked the life out of me when he found out we auctioned it off a week early.”
“He came here and confronted you?” Del questioned, and Wiley’s heart sped up. They were getting close.
“Yeah. But I didn’t tell him who bought it. I don’t tell anybody those things. We run a tight ship here. Sellers and buyers are nobody’s business but mine.”
Sarge and Prez sauntered up, having stepped out of the vehicle to join the group. Sarge posed a question. “How difficult would it be for someone to break in and access your computer records?”
The guy looked affronted, but when Sarge didn’t so much as blink, his stance dropped to chagrined. “Probably not too tough,” he muttered. “I’m not super tight about security.” Then he tried to defend himself. “But it’s not like we keep any money in the place, and I’m not generally concerned about break-ins because the building’s pretty high profile, being right on a main drag.”
Sarge shook his head. “So the guy could have come back and taken the information he wanted.”
“I suppose it’s possible,” the auctioneer answered, staring at the ground.
Wiley had heard enough. He was through with niceties. “So give us the prick’s name,” he demanded.
The guy shifted uncomfortably. “I can’t.”
When Wiley lurched forward, the man held up a hand, as if that would stop him. “Listen. I sympathize, and I want to help, but I don’t know you. How do I know you’re not part of the problem?”
“He has a point,” Sarge commiserated. “Back off, Wiles.” He turned to the boss. “Del, can you get any of your alphabet friends on the line? Maybe that will help.”
The auctioneer looked puzzled, but Del clearly agreed with Sarge. He addressed the man again. “So, what will do it?” Del asked. “A call to the FBI, DEA, ATF? The closest cops who know us are in Boston. Although, if it feels more real to you, I can easily get a BPD detective on the line.”