by Peg Brantley
Daniel continued to shove Carlisle toward the girl, who backed up as they moved forward.
“Wait! My friend’s dad is a detective!”
Daniel froze. “Who are you talking about?”
“Angela. Angela Waters. Her dad is Mr. Waters. Um—Detective Waters.”
When Carlisle heard the girl’s name his body stiffened and he flinched away from Daniel.
Daniel tightened his grip on the man’s arm and spun him around. He got so close to the face in front of him he could count the eyebrow hairs. “You’d better start talking. And you’d better start talking now.”
Carlisle shook his head. “I don’t know nothin’.”
“You’re done, Carlisle. If you want to avoid the death penalty, you’d better tell me where Angela Waters is.” Daniel couldn’t begin to imagine having to break this kind of news to Chase.
“I told ya, I don’t know nothin’.”
Daniel pushed Carlisle over the hood of his car, forcing his head onto the metal. “Tell me now, do you want gas or a needle? I want to make sure and get it right.”
“You’re too late, anyways.”
Daniel felt a hot rush of hate and fear flood his veins. Too late? These were the guys who were buying organs from undocumented immigrants. The only reason they’d kidnap Angela was for the same thing.
He put Carlisle in the back seat and called Chase.
Chapter Eighty-Seven
Wednesday, September 26
10:31 p.m.
After hanging up the phone with Bond at the Preston residence, Chase told Officer Duncan to secure the house until either he or one of the other detectives could return. “Tell Ms. Bjorg she’s going to have to stay somewhere else. Let her pack a few things, but stay with her.”
He’d also called Terri and told her to meet him at his house. Daniel was still on the missing girl call before continuing his efforts to track down the Carlisle brothers.
Chase broke every traffic law in the state to get home. He needed to see Angela’s room for himself. When he walked into her bedroom, Bond flew into his arms. He held her for a moment then told her he needed to look around.
He satisfied himself that no one had broken into her room. Her window was sealed tight and she had in fact put some clothes and extra pillows under the blankets to make it look like there was someone asleep in the bed.
He willed himself to calm down. His daughter had sneaked out of the house. Maybe that was all. He wondered how long that had been going on. “Okay, it may not be as bad as I’d feared. Angela left here on her own.” He looked at Bond. “Wasn’t that party Friday night?”
“It was, but that doesn’t mean there wasn’t something going on tonight.”
There had been enough secrets between them. He didn’t want to freak Bond out, but she needed to know what he’d found at the Preston residence. He was trying to find the words when his cell phone rang. It was Daniel.
“What’s happening? Did you get the brothers?”
“Samuel. We got Samuel. But Chase, you need to get to the Preston Clinic.”
“I can get there a little later, Daniel. I’m taking care of something at home right now.”
Daniel beat Chase to the news and then some. “Angela’s been abducted.”
When Chase heard those words the strength poured out of his body. He fell onto Angela’s bed. “Talk to me.”
“Angela is the missing girl I was called out on. Samuel Carlisle and his brother grabbed Angela from a party. I’ve got Samuel and we’re on our way to the station. I’ll hand him over and join you, but you need to get to the clinic now. I’m sure that’s where they’ve taken your daughter.”
Chase clicked off the phone and punched to his feet, adrenaline replacing utter fear. “Angela’s in trouble.” Bond stood for a moment in the middle of the room, her entire body shaking, then began to tumble to the floor. He caught her and laid her gently on the bed in the middle of the pillows and clothes his daughter had arranged. “I need to go. I’ll call you.”
He tore down the stairs and out to his car. When he peeled away he called Whit. “You need to get me some backup at the Preston Clinic. Pull guys away from that damned kegger. They’ve got Angela.”
“Hostage?”
Chase choked in a breath. “No.” He forced himself to breathe again. “Donor.”
Chapter Eighty-Eight
The Preston Clinic
Wednesday, September 26
10:53 p.m.
Chase pulled his car up to the gate and tried to think beyond this barrier. Surprise was not an option. His baby was inside. Were they cannibalizing her body at this minute? Were they ripping organs out of her to sell to someone else? Was his sweet daughter lost forever?
No time. He put his car in reverse and backed up a good distance down the drive. He prayed that the car and its momentum would be more than the gate could stand. He threw the gear into drive and floored it, careful not to let the engine grab too much air. When his car approached the gate he closed his eyes. Somewhere in his awareness he heard a guttural scream rise out of the sound of the engine and the scraping and the other sounds of impact. So much for a surprise attack.
The airbag exploded and Chase frantically shoved it aside. He didn’t let up on the accelerator as he powered the car toward the clinic entrance. He was barely aware of throwing the car into Park before he flung open the door and sprinted to the entry doors of the Preston Clinic.
He should have taken the tour. He had no idea where the operating rooms were. Where was the security? Surely a place as buttoned-up as this would have security up the wazoo.
Chase made a calculated guess. A one-story building meant that probably most of the patients were on the main level. He pounded down a flight of stairs to the basement level.
The lower level was every bit as plush, but even more quiet, with a feeling of isolation. Chase made sure no one was waiting to challenge him and took off in a direction he could only hope would lead him to the operating suites.
About fifty feet down the hallway, the light quality shifted. Soft incandescent light fed into fluorescent glare. Chase processed the difference. That had to be it. Automatic double doors followed by another set of doors convinced him he’d found the surgical area. His fist hit the wall-mounted door opener with enough force to knock it free of the wall.
The first room on his right stood dark and empty, but a rush of activity drew him farther down the hall. Frantic movements in an OR were not good signs.
He charged into the room and drew to a stop, confused. Where was the surgical team? Only two people stood before him in scrubs.
Why only two people?
The answer slammed into his brain. Because they had no intention of keeping this patient alive.
Angela lay motionless, restrained. Horrible, tight wheezing sounds strangled the air above her as she fought to breathe. He rushed to his daughter. Her pulse was thready and she was unresponsive.
Chase found his voice. “What did you give her?” He forced his focus to include the other people in the room.
One of the two people he’d surprised slipped behind him and broke into a run before Chase could stop him. The sound of slapping rubber soles sounded down the hallway as he fled. The second person backed away like a cornered animal, eyes darting over the surgical mask.
“What in God’s name did you give her?”
A woman’s voice came from behind him. “Just a sedative. A little Versed and something to knock her out.”
Chase spun toward the speaker. A woman stood in a defiant stance, her scrubs saying she belonged. Daniel stood behind her and shoved the woman a little farther into the room. She was handcuffed. A pinched face reflected the anger that had chewed her up and spit her out.
“We didn’t kill her. She’s fine.” Hard features reflected a hard soul. The woman’s lower jaw jutted forward. Chase had seen this before with suspects they’d caught. The perception criminals often held—that everyone was against them—turned
otherwise normal people into despicable human beings. Her eyes squinted, like she was trying to protect the hatred she held. Only it wasn’t working. Hatred leaked out of every pore on her body. “I don’t know why you’re doing this to me. I haven’t done anything. I just work here.” She tried to jerk away from Daniel’s grasp. I’ve never done anything.”
“What exactly did you give her to ‘knock her out’?”
“Fentanyl.” She backed away from Chase, who seemed to suddenly scare her more than the detective at her back. “Hey, don’t blame me if there’s a problem. I just follow orders.”
When Chase heard the name of the drug, he knew what had happened.
Chapter Eighty-Nine
The Preston Clinic
Wednesday, September 26
11:17 p.m.
Chase didn’t have much time. He tried to remember what he’d learned in the paramedic course he took after David died. He raced to the anesthesia cart and yanked open the drawers, throwing medication boxes to the floor until he found an ampoule of Albuterol. Rifling through the other compartments, he found a face mask and nebulizer. He squeezed the medicine into a reservoir and connected it to the oxygen system. After he placed the mask over Angela’s face he turned on the flow of oxygen. He could see the mask mist with each struggling breath.
He scanned the room. Where was the code cart? Every operating room had one. But this wasn’t every operating room. There was nothing typical about this place.
Chase fought to not scream the words. “Where’s your med room?”
The nurse turned a blank stare on him.
“Where are your resuscitation drugs kept?” Now, he was screaming.
She continued to stare.
“I need a code cart!”
The sound of sirens reached them.
“It’s across the hall.”
Chase ran to the door.
The nurse, in an almost sing-song voice said, “Won’t do you any good. You need a key.”
“No, I don’t.”
His first effort to force open the locked door with his shoulder made his vision go gray. He shook it off, backed up and kicked with every muscle his leg possessed. The door cracked. One more kick and it popped open.
They knew so much about his daughter. How could they not know she was allergic to Fentanyl? The brightly lit room with cabinets and cases and two refrigerators was clean and organized. Chase zeroed in on the red metallic cart with the defibrillator on top. Prayed it was properly stocked. He found the Epinephrine, Solu-medrol and Benadryl in the top drawer. He grabbed some Zantac from another cabinet on his way out the door.
His hands shook as he drew the Epi dose into the syringe. Once the needle cleared the plastic stopper, he slammed it into Angela’s thigh. Plunger depressed. Medication delivered to muscle. Please, God.
He held his breath. Waited.
Please, God. Their family had risen from the ashes once before, but losing a second child would render them in a wasteland without a road. Without hope.
Chase knew now that protecting his family went beyond him. He couldn’t do it alone. He needed a little help from a more powerful source. Please, I promise. I’ll go to church. I’ll talk to you more. I’ll do anything. I’ll quit doubting.
He watched as the wheezing from Angela’s chest eased with each successive breath. Her body visibly relaxed. He injected the steroids, Benadryl and Zantac, into the IV. He’d done it. All of that online reading, discussion with doctors, and plans he’d made in his mind that he’d thought he’d never have to use. He’d done it.
Sirens rent the air. Rather than symbolizing the loss of a son, they marked the saving of a daughter. He could live with that.
Chapter Ninety
The Waters Home
Thursday, September 27
2:49 a.m.
Chase fought to control himself. Bond sat on the sofa cradling Angela in her arms. “What in the world were you thinking?” He tried not to shout the question.
Her answer was a sniff.
“Do you have any idea how close we came to losing you tonight?”
Bond looked at him. “That’s enough. You don’t need to terrify her more.”
“Maybe we didn’t terrify her enough.”
Angela pushed away from her mother. “I want to know why. Why do you think someone wanted to kill me? I’ve never hurt anyone.”
Bond pulled Angela back to her chest and began to rock. “Shhh… you’re safe now.”
For a moment Chase watched as his wife and oldest daughter melded into one another. He felt much as he did when Bond was pregnant—separate and ineffective. Then later when Angela was sick and he didn’t know what to do and Bond filled the gap with an instinct and naturalness he would never achieve.
He went to kneel before them. “The danger is over, but you deserve to know why it happened.”
Angela locked her eyes on his. He felt energy and natural curiosity in her gaze, but mostly he felt her trust and his own obligation as her father.
Bond shifted. “Chase, maybe later would be better.”
“No,” Angela said. “Now.”
Chase took a breath. “Do you remember why David died?”
“Sure. His heart. Something about the electric pulses being off.”
“It’s called Long QT Syndrome. It’s genetic. Your mom had a brother who had the same thing. And I had a sister. After David died, we had you and Stephanie checked specifically to see if you were affected. Thankfully, neither of you were.”
“So?”
“So we thought you were safe. We thought our loss, as horrible as it was, would be limited to your brother.”
“Are you saying I’m sick now?”
Bond hugged her tighter. “No, honey. You’re not sick. You’re perfectly healthy.”
Chase cleared his throat. “When your brother died, your mom and I made the decision to donate his organs. It was the right thing to do.” Chase made sure he had both Angela’s and Bond’s attention. “It was the right thing to do,” he repeated.
Chase grasped one of Angela’s hands. “You and David share a rare physical makeup, but while your brother’s heart was affected, yours wasn’t. You were unique in every way David was, but your heart was strong. Is strong.”
Angela’s eyes widened. “Someone wanted my heart?”
“Yes.” Chase decided she didn’t need to know the details. She didn’t need to know that if things had happened in just a slightly different time frame, his daughter’s heart would have been transplanted into the same body her brother’s organs had gone to two years ago.
Chapter Ninety-One
Thursday, December 7
Chase thought about the lives the recent events had impacted. He’d personally made a call to Skizzers at his sister’s house to let him know it would be okay for him to come back to Aspen Falls. His sister had told him that Stephen had entered a drug rehabilitation program out of state. Chase expressed his hope that it would be successful.
Terri had confided in him that she was trying to adopt a young girl. Chase offered whatever personal recommendations he could to make sure that happened for her. It was supposed to become official after the first of the year. Hopefully they would have some transition time to deal with the loss of the girl’s grandmother.
Daniel and Elizabeth were in the young stage of love. Ramona Benavides thought the sun rose and set on the young detective. Daniel had been back to Cobalt Mountain Books three times to buy more novels by Hispanic authors.
Chase and Bond had found an entirely new level of closeness. One of these days Bond would probably be able to have a discussion about the past with her mother, but the time wasn’t right.
Bond’s parents, Stuart and Celeste, had embarked on a two-month vacation. One that Stuart had confided to Chase might heal the rip in their marriage. Bottom line? Stuart Wentworth loved Celeste Wentworth. Chase had to swallow his words more than once. But who was he to make the rules of life?
He and Bond had a wo
nderful dinner with Jacqueline Taylor and her new significant other, Scott Ortiz. Between all of the medical jargon, they were lucky to stay in the conversation.
Mex remained a mystery. Chase felt certain that over time, the two of them would find a way to get to know each other better. The man was haunted, but he was stand-up and solid.
The DNA results for the two bodies hadn’t come back yet, but Chase’s money was on Mex.
He pulled the current copy of the Aspen Falls Register open to the article he’d just read and read it again:
MISSING—Former Aspen Falls resident and prominent international businessman, Presley Adams, has been reported missing in Los Cabos, Mexico, where one of his companies recently opened a new private clinic. Adams has been named as a person of interest in the recent murders and abductions of several people in the Aspen Falls area. Four other people are pending trial.
The Preston Clinic in Aspen Falls is under new ownership.
In an unrelated story out of the same region of Mexico, the continuing battle with various drug cartels has Mexican officials reeling. A larger army, more money, and Santeria are blamed for the failure of the Mexican government to bring an end to the cartels.
Chase folded the newspaper and tossed it on the counter. He didn’t believe for a minute the stories were unrelated.
Acknowledgements
The Missings is the result of a complete rewrite of a manuscript I wrote a couple of years ago. That one was the result of a complete rewrite of an even earlier story. The original, although it bears next to no similarity to this book, was arrived at with the support of The Writing Girls—author Kelly Irvin, author Susan Lohrer and Angela Mills. They are gifted writers in their own right, and I’m proud to count them as friends.
I received assistance for medical issues from author Jordyn Redwood, and crime scene information from author Tom Adair. If there are any errors related to either of these aspects, I assume full responsibility. Both of these people are experts in their fields, gave me their considered opinions, and then I tried to make them work for the story.