Julien glanced at the clock behind him and grunted. “I have a break in fifteen minutes. If you wait, I will speak with you. Have a seat.”
“Thank you.” Carl gave him a grateful smile and moved to a table.
Someone in front of him was eating the gravy-laden fries. Very interesting. He told himself he really ought to try it before leaving town.
Fifteen minutes went by, then sixteen, seventeen. Carl tried not to feel anxious. He realized Julien could’ve flown. Nothing obligated him to speak with Carl. Not unless he went through the extra trouble to have the police get a court order, and that could take days.
Just as he was about to get up and ask the teenager if Julien was still here, the man sat down across from him.
“Go ahead. What do you want?”
Carl leaned back. “I’m the detective from the States that’s been assigned to find The Hand.” Carl lowered his voice. “I’m not trying to get you in trouble. I’ve read your testimony. I need to know if you have anything else to add. Anything that might help lead to the girls. Please. We just want to find them.”
The man relented. He shook his head. “Then you know almost all there is to know. I am sorry. I did not know him personally. I was a liaison between him and his closer connections.” Hesitating, Julien leaned forward. “But I know some officers who did know him. Some who even had been to his house.”
Carl’s pulse quickened. No one had confessed to that in the interviews. “Who?”
“I don’t know what connections they may still have,” Julien said, running his hands over the orange tabletop. “I could cause trouble for myself.”
“They won’t be able to trace anything to you. The Hand’s flown the coop. His residence is empty.”
Julien raised an eyebrow. “You’ve been there?”
Carl allowed himself a smile. “I’m a detective. I figured out where it was.”
Julien took a deep breath and spoke so softly it was not even a whisper. “I knew of three officers. Two from my department, one from another city. I am sure there were more, but I didn’t know them.”
Carl pulled out his notepad, pen poised, waiting.
It took Julien a full minute to continue. Carl did not move. The man would provide the names in a moment.
“Chretian, Simard, and Plouffe.”
He recognized Chretian’s name. The man had been charged and awaited trial. He’d have to review those charges. The other names he didn’t know. “Thank you. Let me give you my card.” He handed Julien his anonymous card, the one with a fake business name and his phone number. Just in case anyone should discover it on Julien, they wouldn’t realize he’d spoken to a detective. “If you think of anything, please call me.”
Julien stood and they shook hands again. Then the man pulled on his pointed black hat and slinked back into the restaurant kitchen.
Simard had been dismissed from the police force. No new job information was listed. Carl used the GPS in his phone to track down his residence. He pulled his car to the curb just as the phone began to ring. The number was unavailable, which meant it was probably law enforcement. He turned the car off and got out. “Hello?”
“Detective Hamilton?” The deep, somber voice on the other end made him picture a very serious Morgan Freeman.
“Yes?” Carl hovered by the vehicle.
“How soon can you get to a secure line?”
This was bad. He knew it. “I’m twenty minutes from my hotel.”
“When you get there, call the number I’m about to give you. Tell them who you are and they’ll find me.”
Not even a name. Carl memorized the number Morgan Freeman’s voice gave him and as soon as they hung up, he programmed it into his phone.
For a heartbeat longer he stood where he was. He wanted to dive back into the car and race to his hotel. But he was here. The least he could do was check out the place.
I’ll be quick about this. And he would. His head pounded with curiosity.
Stepping up to the front door, he rang the bell. No answer. He waited a moment and rang again. Come on, come on.
Maybe Simard had found a job. He wouldn’t be home in the middle of the day if he had.
A voice from the sidewalk made him turn around. A petite brunette stood there, jogging in place with her index finger pressed to her neck. She spoke again, a question.
Carl shook his head. “I don’t speak French?” He raised his hands in a helpless gesture.
“Oh. Are you looking for Officer Simard?”
“Yes.” Carl nodded. “Do you know him?”
“I live across the street.” She pointed, still bobbing up and down. “He has not been here for days. Weeks. No lights on, no car.”
Really. That was interesting news. “Thanks.” He trotted down the steps and back to the car.
Interesting news that he’d have to dwell on later. Right now, he had a phone call to make.
The twenty minute drive back to the hotel stretched on for an eternity. Each red traffic light tested his patience. Carl drummed his fingers on the dashboard, resisting the urge to honk at innocent drivers.
He barely put the car in park before he flew into the hotel room. Picking up the phone, he dialed the number he had been given.
A female answered after one ring. “Name?”
His contact hadn’t given a name, so Carl assumed they wanted his. “Carl Hamilton.”
“One moment.”
The phone rang again, and the contact answered. “Detective Hamilton. Thank you for being prompt. This is Agent Keeler with the FBI.”
Keeler. He hadn’t met this guy. “Yes?”
“We have a situation. The three girls have gone missing.”
“What?” Carl gasped the word out and clutched the phone tighter. No. It couldn’t be. After all the work they’d gone through to get those girls into safe custody, they couldn’t be gone. “What happened?”
“I’m not at liberty to explain at the moment. But you are being reassigned to the case. We trust your insight on this one.”
Carl sank into the bed, head spinning. He couldn’t believe it. Gone. “What can I do?”
“I’ve already contacted your chief. We need you back in the States to get briefed. We’ll talk more at that time.”
“Got it. I’ll catch a flight back right away.” He hung up and started packing. He needed to find those girls—before someone else ended up dead.
Chapter Seventeen
Jaci clutched Amanda’s hand, unable to tear her eyes off the road in front of them. Their driver, a wiry man with a Latino complexion and beady eyes, veered to a field in front of a trailer park. A dark blue SUV sat under the interstate bridge.
She trembled. Only thirty minutes ago they’d been at McDonald’s, waiting for Crystal to appear with their food. What had happened to her?
The man parked the car and dropped the keys into his pocket. A broad-shouldered blond got out of the SUV and hurried over. Jaci stared at him. He seemed familiar, though she couldn’t place him. The dark-skinned one opened the door and pulled Jaci out, and the big guy grabbed Amanda.
Jaci winced at the way his fingers dug into her collar bone. She hunched her shoulders, trying to worm out of his grip. It only tightened.
The side doors to the SUV popped open, revealing two familiar faces. Jaci stopped, the cold dread crawling over her like icy fingers. Grey, easily recognizable because of his perpetually fat lip, and The Hand.
The Latino hit her on the back of the head. “Get in!”
She fought hard to keep her face blank. She could feel The Hand’s cold blue eyes on her as she sat next to Grey.
Amanda crawled in beside her, followed by their kidnapper. The big blond guy slammed all the doors closed and got into the driver’s side, bumping th
e car out of the field.
“Heads down,” The Hand said, eyes fixated on their faces.
Jaci put her head between her knees, feeling the heat rush to her face. She blinked back tears. Did he have Sara? Or had she gotten away? Jaci was afraid to ask.
The vehicle sped up as if entering the interstate. She heard the clicking of the blinker light, felt the momentum slow. They went at a slower speed for a few minutes, then the engine gears engaged and they sped up again.
They were back on the interstate. Had they come to an interstate junction?
Or had they turned around?
The instant she thought it, the idea stuck in her head. He could be trying to keep the police off their trail by driving in circles.
After an hour and a half, she had no idea where they were. They could be anywhere.
The hulky blond slowed the car down, then drifted it to idle. The cabin of the SUV darkened. Finally, the vehicle stopped.
“One at a time,” The Hand ordered.
The wiry Latin dude opened the door and hopped out. He took Amanda and hauled her down, slamming the door behind them.
Jaci panicked. Where was he taking her? She scooted toward the door. But Grey’s hand snaked out and gripped her wrist, his fat lower lip twisting. He slammed her face-down on the car floor so fast that the wind knocked out of her.
“One more move like that, Missy, and you won’t remember your name.”
The pressure didn’t let up, but she finally got in a deep breath. Tears slipped from her eyes and ran down her nose.
The car door opened behind her, sending a rush of cold air into the vehicle. Someone grabbed her ankle and pulled her to her feet outside the car. He pushed her head down and gripped both her wrists in one hand.
She stared at his shoes on the concrete as he moved her forward, her feet crunching over shards of glass and wires. The air smelled stale and filthy, like a few animals had made this place their final resting place.
He kicked open a door and shoved her inside. A window lit up the room, the square of evening light flickering on the hard cement floor.
He released her head, and Jaci saw it was the dark, wiry man that led her forward. He fiddled with a closet door. The metal door fitted together so well that only a millimeter of space showed between the frame and the floor. He turned a key in the latch and pulled her to his side. His hot breath raked over her face, his black eyes devouring her. He ran his hands down the length of her body before opening the door and thrusting her inside.
Before she could even get her arms out to catch herself, she slammed into the inside wall and slumped to the ground.
Chapter Eighteen
Montana was not far from Idaho. It only took five hours to drive from Missoula to Idaho Falls, but her father liked to arrange an early check-in, if possible. And then he always arrived in time to do a scan of the area and hotel to make sure they were safe, with their privacy secure.
Megan had been awake since five in the morning. Not all that unusual, but after being in a van with her brother and two sisters for four and a half hours, even the relief at getting away from school was dissipating.
The oldest child of the Reynolds clan, she was often called upon to supervise. As a fight broke out in the back seat between the two youngest, today was no exception.
“Megan, dear.” Her mother leaned her head sideways on the headrest. She made no other move from the passenger seat at the front of the van. “Please protect the baby.”
Megan heaved a sigh, undid her seatbelt, and scrambled to her knees. “Hey! Give that back!” She snatched the Styrofoam airplane away from Whitney and handed it back to the screaming eleven-month-old.
“Oh, brother,” Spencer said, rolling his eyes. “Come on, Megan, make them stop!”
Megan gave him a half grin and redid her belt. “You’re up next. Hope you have some magic tricks up your sleeve.”
Mr. Reynolds’ cell phone rang. Mrs. Reynolds started fishing through her handbag for it. Megan watched with mild amusement, doubting her mother’s ability to find the phone before the voicemail picked up. She turned on her iPod and popped the buds into her ears. She nodded her head to the music, watching the fields of dying grasses go by outside the window.
“No. No. I hadn’t heard.”
Her father’s tone of voice sliced through the noise, and she turned down the song. She shifted her gaze from the window and stared at the back of his head.
“We’ll be at our hotel in half an hour. I’ll call you then.”
“What is it?” Mrs. Reynolds asked her husband.
“Something’s happened to the girls.”
Megan’s throat went dry. She turned her music up and tried to lose herself in the scenery again, but all she could imagine was the terror of having to trust someone else with her life. Goose bumps popped up under her turtleneck, and she rubbed her arms.
They reached the Holiday Inn Express half an hour later. Megan got Becca, the baby, without being told. She caught a glimpse of her reflection in the window and made a face. Her straightened strawberry-brown hair was tucked behind her ears, making them poke out. She wore no makeup except her mascara. Between her appearance, the baby in her arms, and the small pooch poking out over her jeans, she looked like a young mom. Megan harrumphed and decided to go easy on Thanksgiving dinner.
Her parents had reserved two rooms, as usual. Going into the second room with Whitney, Megan threw her suitcase on the bed. She studied the view outside. Traffic paused in the busy intersection below.
“Tell me what happened.”
She turned around at the sound of her father’s voice. He must be on the phone.
“What’s going on?” Whitney asked, pulling out a dog-eared paperback.
“I don’t know.” Megan tossed her a remote control. “Find us a movie, will you? I’ll see what’s up.” Leaving Whitney, she crossed into the other room.
Mr. Reynolds stood at the desk by the wall, pacing in a small circle. “Uh-huh. Okay. Fingerprints? Okay. I’m in Idaho Falls. I’m about to meet with their families. Sure. What’s his number?” He jotted a number down on the hotel notepad. “I’ll call you before the night’s over.”
“What is it?” Megan asked, fingering the bedspread nearest her. Spencer lounged on the other, body facing the TV, but eyes on his father.
Mr. Reynolds took a sip of water and cleared his throat. Megan held her breath. That meant he was about to spill the news. “What I’m about to tell you doesn’t leave this room. Yesterday the girls were packing up and preparing to leave Ohio. The plan was for all three of them to be reassigned to different safe houses. They left the safe house with Crystal Florence. They never arrived at the rendezvous.”
“What happened to Florence?” Spencer asked.
“The FBI is searching for the woman now. A McDonald’s security camera appears to have caught them on film. They get no response from Florence’s cell phone or home phone. Her apartment is empty, and there’s no sign of her two-year-old daughter, either. They found her car abandoned by a railroad track.”
Spencer spoke up. “Do you think she kidnapped them, Dad?”
“Do I think so? Well, I never met the woman.” His eyes went to the notepad in his hand. “Detective Hamilton is back on the case. He did an exceptional job putting puzzle pieces together before the FBI took over. I’ll call him and try to meet with him tonight.” He looked back up. “Since I’m here, it’s been assigned to me to break it to the families. I know the plan was for all of us to meet them, but I think it’s better if I go alone.”
“I want to go,” Megan piped up. She needed to go. She knew the girls.
“Why should Megan get to go?” Spencer raised an eyebrow at her.
“Because I got to know the girls. I’m awesome.”
“I think I
got pretty close to them also.”
That elicited a chuckle from Mrs. Reynolds. “You certainly tried, anyway.”
Spencer’s cheeks flushed pink.
“Megan can come,” Mr. Reynolds decided. “She can probably feed the parents more information than I can. Megan, be mature.”
“Dad.” She stuck her tongue out at her father. “I’m eighteen now. I’m always mature.”
“Yeah, you proved that,” Spencer chortled.
“You’ve got ten minutes, Megan. Get ready to go.”
Mrs. Yadle, Sara’s adopted mother, greeted them at the door with a smile. But she took one look at Mr. Reynolds’s face and the smile died on her lips. “What is it?”
“Mrs. Yadle.” He reached a hand out and gripped her shoulder. “The girls are missing.”
It was a good thing her father had a hand on her, or Mrs. Yadle would have collapsed. Her howling brought her husband running and it took both men to move the heavy-set woman to the white sofa in the living room.
“They’ll be killed this time,” she sobbed. “I know it. I know it.”
Mr. Reynolds’ phone rang. “Excuse me a moment,” he said, moving to the kitchen. “It’s the detective assigned to the case.”
When he returned, Mrs. Yadle asked, “Any news? Leads? Did they find them?”
“They haven’t been found,” Mr. Reynolds replied, tapping his phone against his thigh. “I’ll know more after I meet with Detective Hamilton tonight. Anything I can tell you, I will.”
They stayed half an hour, making sure Mr. Yadle had the situation under control before Mr. Reynolds escorted Megan out to the car.
“Well.” He passed a hand over his eyes. “That went well.”
“Really?” Megan glanced askance at him and buckled her seatbelt.
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