After her morning routine, Rox poured a second cup of coffee and tried to decide which call to make first. Now that she had Carrie’s permission to use her for a reference, it made sense to call the Ridgeline office again. If she could convince them she was a potential client, she might gain all the information she needed to extract Josh—without another effort like her nerve-wracking church visit the night before. She’d been able to drop Carrie’s phone without anyone noticing—or at least not calling out to her—but the whole episode had been clumsy. Plus, Carrie might not have found her phone yet or had it returned, so she might suspect the church newcomer of being a thief. If that was the case, Rox couldn’t use that ID again or do any follow-up. Oh well. She’d probably exhausted that line of information anyway.
Rox clicked on her laptop to find the Ridgeline website, then dialed the 800 number from memory. The same voicemail message played and Rox launched into her spiel. “This is Jolene McAdams again. I left a message yesterday, then realized I forgot to tell you about my referral. Carrie Lovejoy told me about your program at our fellowship. I’m eager to get my son Martin on the right track again. Please call me.”
Rox worked through how her pretense might play out. She suspected they would want money up front and would only take a credit card. She could spend her client’s money on the deposit, but what card to use? Her business card listed K.J. Investigations. That would be a red flag. If she used her personal credit card, the admin office might be suspicious that it didn’t match the name she’d given. What if she used Marty’s card? She could say her father-in-law or uncle was paying for the program. Relieved, Rox moved to the next step. Would they ask about her son and his problems? Or make her fill out a questionnaire? How the hell would she get them to divulge the location of the camp? Or even the office?
Rox walked out to the back patio, and while she watered the flowers Marty had planted, she called to cancel her treatment on Thursday. She had too much going on to spend the time this week. Her focus returned to Ridgeline. There had to be a way to trace the call back to their office location. If all else failed, she would call her buddy at the CIA and see if he could help. But without blatant criminal activity to report, she hated to waste his time. Then it hit her. When the payment processed against Marty’s credit card, the Ridgeline name and phone number would be listed with his bank. Maybe even an address. Meanwhile, she still had a list of calls to make, including the business registries in Utah, Nevada, and possibly Oregon.
She hurried back inside and called the Nevada number she’d seen in Carrie’s phone the night before. It went straight to voicemail: “This is RWH Transport. Leave your name and phone number.”
Score! Rox said, “Sorry, wrong number” and hung up the phone.
RWH likely meant Ridgeline Wilderness Health, and this was their transport service. Unless they were using a ported cell phone number, the administrative office was likely in Reno. But Carrie had said Ridgeline operated a camp in Central Oregon. It didn’t make sense to send vans from Nevada to pick up kids for an Oregon camp, so they probably had service operations in both states. If she could find the local office, she could stake it out and follow a vehicle until it took her to the camping area. In theory. She had no idea how often they transported teenagers. Or how many camps they serviced. Or which one Josh had been taken to. But she felt encouraged. Piece by piece, she would figure this out and bring the poor boy home. The hardest part for her would be leaving all the other teenagers to tough it out. But if the situation was obviously abusive, she could send authorities back to the camp to make arrests and rescue the detainees. Because that’s what they were. Young adults held captive and forced to participate in activities they probably despised.
A glance at the time made Rox jump up. She had a meeting with Scott Goodwin, the new client who had a missing nephew. Potential new client. She wouldn’t make up her mind until she’d met with him. The only reason she considered helping him while she was already working a difficult case was the possible connection to the same wilderness program. Rox dropped both of her cell phones into her shoulder bag and headed out.
On the drive to her office, she wondered again about the possibility that Ridgeline was targeting the Portland area. That seemed like a broad marketing approach, but maybe they only focused on certain groups, like churches and other social communities, where people influenced each other. She would ask Goodwin about his connections when she saw him. Or more accurately, she wanted to know about his nephew’s mother, the person who might have sent him to the program.
Impulsively, Rox called Bowman again and had to leave another message: “Hey, it’s Rox. Do you know anything about Ridgeline Wilderness Health? It’s a correctional camp for teenagers. They operate out of Nevada but they have a camp in Central Oregon, and I think they’re targeting Portland for clients. Let me know.”
Eager to get the information, she called a more familiar number. She and her ex-boyfriend hadn’t spoken since their breakup—right after she started the treatments. He hadn’t liked the changes in her personality, but she hadn’t wanted to give up the therapy. The magnets were her one chance to experience emotions and perceptions the way other people did. Even if the effect didn’t last, she still wanted the insight—both as a person and as an investigator.
Kyle, who worked as a homicide detective for the Portland Police Bureau, answered quickly. “Rox, so good to hear from you.”
She was obviously still in his Contact list. “How have you been?”
“Busy, as always, but good.”
“Are you dating?” Shit. She hadn’t meant to ask that, but the question had come into her mind, then popped out of her mouth. Were the treatments wearing off already?
“I’ve been out with a few women, but nothing serious. What about you?”
“Still tall and awkward, so not many dates here either.” Rox laughed, suddenly nervous. “I’m busy too. The cases just keep coming. When I started this business, I thought the extractions would be more occasional.” She had dated Detective Kyle Wilson long enough to trust him with incriminating information about herself. She still trusted him.
“It’s a great gig for you and a much-needed service.” He paused. “Just stay safe, please.”
“I try.” Rox took the 213 exit and headed north. “Speaking of cases… I’m working one that involves a correctional program called Ridgeline Wilderness Health. I think they operate out of Nevada, but they seem to be pulling clients from Portland right now. Have you heard anything about the business? Any public complaints?”
“No, but those issues wouldn’t come to my department. I can ask around though.”
“Thanks.” Rox wanted to keep the conversation going. She’d missed him. “It’s been eye-opening researching these programs. Many of them are horribly abusive.”
“That’s what your case is about? You’re planning to extract a kid out of a wilderness camp?” Kyle sounded skeptical.
Rox hesitated, resenting his tone a little. “Maybe.”
“Take Marty with you and be prepared for anything.”
Yes, sir. Rox smiled to herself. Kyle still cared about her. “I will. But I highly doubt any of the employees carry weapons. Some of them may be sadists, but since they deal with minors, if they were armed, they would have been shut down already.”
A long pause, then finally Kyle asked, “Would you like to have dinner with me sometime?”
Startled, Rox took a moment to respond. “That sounds nice, but I should think about it. I still have a few treatments left.”
“Okay. But the offer stands.”
“Thanks. We’ll talk again soon.” She hoped he would call back with information about her case—and another dinner offer. She really wanted to see him. A little sex would help take the edge off her stress too.
At her office, she turned on her computer and googled the phrase Scott Goodwin Portland. She found a profile on LinkedIn and a brief news article in the business section of the Oregonian. Goodwin’s phot
o surprised her. A stunningly good-looking man. Thick dark hair, a classic nose, and a strong jaw. Rox tried to guess his nationality. Greek maybe? Was he single? He hadn’t mentioned a wife or girlfriend when they’d talked the day before. Rox checked his LinkedIn status. Yes, indeed, he was single. She wondered if his body was as nice as his face.
She tapped her own cheek. “Focus!”
The news brief referred to Goodwin as an entrepreneur with holdings in real estate, restaurants, and entertainment. Rox checked the clock. Did she have time to run a background check before he arrived? No, but she would do it soon, maybe as they talked. She heard a car engine and spun toward the monitor for the parking lot. A new silver BMW rolled into the front space and a tall man climbed out. Six-five, she guessed. Nice. Not many men were her size. Kyle was six-two, but if she wore heels they were the same height.
Scott Goodwin walked to the front door, and Rox shifted her eyes to the lobby monitor. “Hello, this is Karina Jones.” A strange worry surfaced. If they dated, she would have to tell him her real name.
“Hi. Scott Goodwin here.” He glanced at the monitor on the outer desk with an amused expression. “This is a little more cloak-and-dagger than I expected.”
“I’m sorry, but I protect myself when I take extraction cases—for good reasons.”
“I understand.” He took a seat, and she noticed the tight fit of his sports pullover.
“But since I won’t be doing an extraction for you, we might be able to dispense with this process.”
“I hope so.” Goodwin smiled, and he was beautiful.
Rox checked herself. “But I haven’t decided about your case yet. I need to know why you think your nephew might be in a correctional program.”
“Donna, my ex-sister-in-law, talked about it one time when I picked up Tommy. She was really upset about his behavior and ranting about solutions. She mentioned military camp and wilderness camp.”
“When was this?”
He scrunched his forehead, hesitating. “About six weeks ago.”
“Did she mention a specific program?”
“I’ve been thinking about that, and I believe she said something about Rockridge.”
“Could it have been Ridgeline?”
He nodded. “Yeah, that sounds right.”
A good reason to take the case. “Did she mention where or how she’d heard of the program?”
“No, but it was probably her church. Donna is pretty focused on it. That’s part of why Tommy keeps coming to stay with me.”
Another tingle, this one on the back of her neck. “What church?”
“Common Community Fellowship. She says it’s not really a church, but it is. She attends the one on Centennial.”
So Ridgeline was targeting at least one social organization. A thought struck her. Maybe the fellowship owned or sponsored the program. That would mesh with what the girl in the daycare had said about the gay-conversion camp. Those programs were always religious. Yet wilderness camps weren’t. Rox shook off the idea for now. She needed to be open-minded and keep researching, especially the business’ background.
“What’s wrong?” Goodwin asked.
“Nothing.” She shifted gears. This was a missing-person case and she needed to think like a cop. “When did you last see your nephew?”
“It was a Sunday. Tommy had spent the weekend with me, and I dropped him at his mother’s after dinner. I was supposed to see him again the next week, but he stopped taking my calls, and his mom eventually told me he’d run away.”
Something about this was off. “Why would his mother not want you to know she’d sent him to a behavior camp? She has custody, correct?”
“Donna knew I hated the idea. I expressed that when she mentioned it.” Goodwin’s lovely face flashed with pain. “I think she’s been drinking heavy since Greg was killed in action. She’s not herself. I’ve tried to help her, including paying for a lot of my nephew’s expenses, so Donna doesn’t want to alienate me.” Goodwin pulled his shoulders back, and his eyes pinched with grief. “I think she also resents me. Just because I’m alive and Greg is dead.”
Weird. But it also made sense in a stage-of-grief process. “Would you give me Donna’s number? I’d like to talk to her.” Rox waited while he looked in his phone. She would also speak with someone in the police department who handled missing-persons cases and see what territory had been covered. Tommy might simply be a runaway.
Scott Goodwin kept staring at his phone, his shoulders slumped. When he looked up, his eyes were blurred with tears and he seemed devastated. “I miss my brother so much. And now I feel like I’ve failed Tommy.”
Rox’s heart ached for him. Impulsively, she hurried into the foyer and put a hand on his shoulder. “I’m sorry for your loss. I’ll find your nephew if I can.”
Goodwin patted her hand, still on his shoulder. “Thank you.”
After a moment, he straightened his posture. “You mentioned a retainer, so I brought the two thousand.” He reached for his wallet.
“I can’t promise to find him. And since you don’t have custody, I can’t physically bring him to you if I do. But I’ll do my best to reunite the two of you.” Rox reluctantly reached for the cash he offered, then tried to reassure him. “I’m pretty good at this kind of thing.”
“I believe you.” Goodwin gave her another of his beautiful smiles. “Do we sign any paperwork?”
“Only if you want to.” Some non-extraction clients insisted on it, but many preferred not to document their own actions, which were often about spying on someone else.
“No, I trust you.” Her client stood. “I should get back to the office.”
“Text me Donna’s number when you have a moment.”
“Okay.” He reached out with both hands and squeezed one of hers. “Thank you.”
After Goodwin left, Rox hurried into her office and stuck the money into the safe. She might need it later to bribe a few people. Once she’d found his nephew, or given up trying, she would ask Goodwin out to dinner. Kyle didn’t seem to like her new personality and she was tired of being lonely.
Chapter 11
Thursday, July 6, 11:55 a.m.
Marty walked into the restaurant and instantly felt uncomfortable. High ceilings with exposed ducting and minimalistic decor were trendy now, but he preferred a cozier dining space with a landscape painting or two. He glanced around. No vinyl-and-formica booths either. Just plain black tables with hard metal chairs. Sheesh. Why was austerity the cool thing now?
A young hostess with bright-pink hair greeted him. “Just one for lunch?”
Did he look too grumpy to have a friend? Marty tried to smile. “Someone is joining me. An old guy in uniform.”
The girl looked perplexed but led him to a table in the interior. Every seat by the windows was taken except one near the door to the kitchen. Marty asked to sit there. The hostess gave a polite smile and led him over without a word. No points to her for friendliness. Still, he needed information. “Do you like working here?” he asked as he took his seat.
“Sure. Why?” Another confused look on her pretty face.
“I’m just wondering what you think of your boss, Isaac Lovejoy. I’m considering him for a partnership.”
“I don’t know. I just started last week.” She walked away.
Well, hell. This could be a waste of time. There’d better be something decent on the menu. He opened it, relieved to see a list of tasty sandwiches and microbrews. The stack of huge round drums against the rear wall indicated they made beer on the premises.
The front door opened, and he looked up to see Bowman enter and head straight for him, duck-walking like always. His old partner was short and muscular but did the uniform proud by not carrying much of a gut. They were alike that way. But Bowman was bald—except for a wedge of salt-and-pepper hair at the base of his skull.
He plunked down in the chair facing the window. “What’s up with this place? It’s not really our style.” As beat cop
s, they’d eaten a lot of pastrami sandwiches at Sam’s Deli and even more burgers at Heavy Chevy’s.
“It’s research for a case Rox and I are working,” Marty explained with an apology. “Our new client is the chef and co-owner. It seemed wise to check it out. I want to see what his employees think of him.”
Bowman grabbed his menu. “They’d better have a cheeseburger or pattymelt.”
Marty laughed. His ex-partner was even more of an old crank than he was. “The sandwich list looks good. Beer too.”
Bowman grunted. “I’m on duty.”
Marty decided not to drink in front of him and planned to buy a six-pack of microbrews to take home. He and Rox were both out, and it was too damn hot to go without beer. “I’m having the Volcano burger.” The description included horseradish-cheddar cheese and jalapenos.
“Not me. My ulcer is getting worse.”
Marty shook his head. “See a doctor. Get that test for bacteria. It could be an easy fix.”
“Yeah, soon.” Bowman gave an exaggerated wink.
Marty laughed. If he hadn’t had a mild heart attack—which Rox still didn’t know about—he wouldn’t have been to a doctor lately either. Or discovered the heart disease. But the incident had happened during sex with his previous girlfriend, and he couldn’t bring himself to tell his daughter the specifics. He was also afraid to try getting naked again. The new woman he was dating was being patient, but he had to face the situation eventually. Or stay home and be lonely. He’d done that for decades while he raised his girls and nursed his wounds. Georgia’s abandonment had broken him. He’d never really faced it until he’d retired and didn’t have his job to keep him occupied. He’d also never told Rox that her mother had left partly because she couldn’t relate to her quirky daughter.
“How’s your heart?” Bowman knew about his diagnosis, but not the heart attack.
Marty had never told anyone. “I’m fine… for a dying man.”
A server walked up. The skinny young guy wore pants that fit like a glove. “Hi. Do you have questions or are you ready?”
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