Not a Moment Too Soon

by Linda O. Johnston

  “Okay, O’Leary. You’re driving me nuts.” Hunter lifted one hand off the steering wheel in a gesture of surrender. Beneath a quickly passed streetlight, Shauna even saw the ghost of a smile raise an edge of his lips. “What do I have to do to get you to tell me this new theory?” Then, he said more seriously, “If it pans out, if it helps me save Andee, I swear I’ll never doubt you again.”

  “Or my stories?” She should have resisted but didn’t.

  “Don’t push it,” he said, though his tone remained light.

  Enough so that the other story she’d so recently written, the one about Hunter and her—together—catapulted to the forefront of her mind. Tantalizing her with its impossible “what ifs” that made her squirm in her seat—and not from the way the car hurtled through the night.

  Good thing Hunter couldn’t read her thoughts.

  And that he hadn’t seen that story. Bad enough that he knew so much about the one on Andee’s kidnapping that he directed her in what to do with it.

  With effort, she squared her thoughts back onto what she hoped had been that night’s breakthrough.

  “Okay, here’s what I did.” She described the things she’d spoken with Conrad about. How he kept an eye on Margo. Loved parties at her house. Enjoyed seeing plays her friends starred in—sort of. “The guy’s got an enormous crush on your movie-star ex-wife. I’m sure of it. He commented about seeing her friends John Aitken and BillieAnn Callahan in some shows. Didn’t seem overjoyed that Aitken hung around as much as he did. Seemed to think that Margo and he had a thing going.”

  “So?”

  “I put all that down and more. If Conrad saw something he didn’t recognize had significance, then he’s key. He’s met Aitken and BillieAnn, plus some of Andee’s friends and their parents, like Sondra Nantes and her father Earl, the ex-con. I listed them, then ran an online search of everyone’s names. That’s where I got my theory.”

  “Yeah? I’ve done searches, too, and so has Simon, with the names I’ve given him including Nantes’s. Banger’s looked for criminal records or any cop database stuff like too many parking tickets. He found Nantes, too, of course. Banger’s probably also run Margo and me and even you.”

  Shauna had anticipated that, but it still made her uncomfortable. One condition of her sharing her stories with the Phoenix Police—including Hunter—was that it remain classified. But that didn’t mean it hadn’t been entered into a database somewhere and leaked, thanks to hackers or computer specialists, into a place for all law-enforcement agencies to access.

  She shrugged off that anxiety for now. “Even if he’s run everyone he’s met on this case, looking for a criminal record might not help. What if it’s not an enemy but a friend? That’s who Conrad met—Margo’s friends, like John Keenan Aitken. And, Hunter—” Shauna paused to brace herself for his probable ridicule of her idea. “Conrad quoted him. He intends to make it big in the theater.” She repeated the words this time in the same manner Conrad had, emphasizing both the “big” and the “theater.” “Big,” she said again. “Theater. Is it possible John Aitken could be ‘Big T’?”

  Hunter argued with Shauna for the rest of the dash to Margo’s—more to follow her thoughts than because he didn’t believe her. It seemed a stretch, yeah, but a logical one. In fact, the possibility excited him. But he needed more than a naked theory, reasoned or not.

  Shauna had already asked Margo if she knew anyone whose name began with T. Her response hadn’t included Aitken, and for good reason. The only T in Aitken was in the middle. It wasn’t his initial. But even so…

  “What if he thinks of himself that way?” Shauna demanded, defending her theory. “He wants to be a star so much that he could have given himself pep talks about becoming big in the theater, then abbreviated it in his own mind, said it often enough that it stuck.”

  “I think you want your story to fit reality so much that you may be grabbing at any explanation,” he countered.

  Since he had just exited the freeway and was stopped at a light, he looked over at her. She didn’t appear happy. “I think you know better than that,” she said.

  “Maybe. But why would John Aitken snatch Andee?”

  “Ask him. Or, for now, why not ask Margo?”

  First thing when they got to Margo’s, though, Hunter insisted on hearing details about the kidnapper’s latest call.

  Margo’s red eyes announced she’d been crying again. “It was horrible.” Her voice was so low Hunter could hardly hear her. Maybe he’d be better off not hearing…no way. He had to know, no matter what it was.

  They were all back in what had become their official search headquarters—Margo’s living room—sitting in the same seats as if they’d been assigned: Margo and Simon on one couch, Shauna and he on the sofa facing it, and Banger and Tennyson on chairs also clustered around the coffee table.

  At Hunter’s insistence, Simon had been hanging out here when not visiting a potential suspect. Hunter figured Banger would have assigned some peon detectives to watch the place overnight, so his presence was a surprise. Tennyson’s, too, but who could ever figure what the FBI was going to do?

  “Tell us,” Hunter said to Margo, trying to keep his voice firm but insistent, as he did with emotional witnesses on a case.

  “He was so mad,” Margo said. Moist eyed, she looked down at the coffee table, at photos of Andee that were laid out there. “He was shouting. Screaming, even.”

  She turned to Simon, who nodded. He’d heard it, too, on the equipment used to tap Margo’s phone.

  “He said he’d seen the news,” Margo continued, her voice uneven. “He reminded me that he’d said no police, no publicity, no Amber alerts—nothing. Just a nice, simple money drop, and he’d even been kind enough to give us time to get it together. But now…” She closed her eyes. Swallowed. Took a deep breath, then looked at him. “Now he says we’ve spoiled it.”

  “Did he say what that meant?” Hunter was worried the guy had told Margo he’d already taken care of things. Of Andee.

  Where the hell was she? She had to be okay.

  He had never felt so helpless in his life.

  “He said he’s left the L.A. area. He wants another fifty thousand dollars for his trouble, and he’ll be in touch tomorrow or the day after to tell us where he wants it.”

  “Did you ask to talk to Andee?” Hunter couldn’t bring himself to state the obvious. No money if their daughter was no longer alive.

  Again Simon nodded.

  “He put her on,” Margo said. “She said she was okay, then started to cry about the bad man.” Tears ran down her cheeks.

  Hunter felt like crying, too.

  But at least Andee was alive.

  For now.

  “How well do you know John Keenan Aitken, Margo?” Shauna asked. Hunter turned a frown on her. He wasn’t ready to spring her theory on Margo. Not till he’d heard the entire phone call. If Margo didn’t buy it, she might not be as forthcoming later.

  “He’s a close friend,” Margo replied, her glare at Shauna a mixture of irritation and puzzlement. “Why?”

  “Could it have been him on the phone? Might he have been the one who took Andee?”

  “Let’s hear the rest of the call first,” Hunter interrupted.

  But when Shauna met his gaze, she nodded calmly toward Margo.

  His ex-wife’s eyes bulged. “Oh, my Lord!” she exclaimed after a long moment. “I—he said—I thought I was imagining things, but…this call. I never recognized his voice—he’s too good an actor for that. What he said, though—”

  Hunter stood, maneuvered around the coffee table until he stared down at Margo. “Is Aitken the kidnapper?” he demanded. “He was in this house the day after the snatch. Acting like your best bud. And all the time—”

  “Maybe it’s not him,” Margo said hurriedly. “I never imagined it before. But this time the kidnapper was so angry. He might have been working off a script in previous calls, but he was definitely ad-libbing this t
ime. He talked about the media leaping in and endangering us all, including Andee. He called it detonated hype, like it was all blown up out of proportion.”

  “It’s hardly out of proportion,” Shauna said from behind him. “A child’s life is at stake. So tell us why that reminded you of John Keenan Aitken. It did remind you of him, didn’t it?”

  “Yes.” Margo sounded pathetic as she wriggled around Hunter and stood. “John was in a play not long ago where that line was used. A drama named Public Power, in which a politician who struck his wife in anger was brought down by the incident when she made a huge public circus of it. It showed both their points of view. Of course domestic violence, even in anger, should not be tolerated, and especially not in someone in a high government position. I’d have loved to have played the wife, but—”

  “Margo,” Hunter interrupted, “are you saying this term ‘detonated hype’ was used in that play? And that Aitken played the role and it was a line he said?”

  “Yes,” she said.

  “It’s not a well-known play, is it?” Shauna had come around to stand beside Hunter, facing Margo. “I never heard of it.”

  “It was written by a local screenwriter who wanted to try something different,” Margo said.

  “Does Aitken ever go by the name ‘Big T’?” Shauna asked.

  “I don’t think so,” Margo said. “Why do you ask? Why are you so hung up on someone with the initial T?” Her voice was increasing in intensity, as if she was winding up to blame whatever was happening on Shauna. “That’s not John.”

  “We have reason to believe that the kidnapper uses the nickname ‘Big T,’” Hunter said. He caught a furious glare from Tennyson, who stood behind Margo during this exchange. That didn’t surprise him. But even Banger looked upset.

  “How did you get this information?” Tennyson demanded.

  Hunter ignored him, though he knew he’d have to come up with a reason—one that didn’t seem ridiculous.

  “I never heard him use it but—oh, my!” She edged away from Hunter. “Just a minute.” She left the room.

  “What the hell is this about, Strahm?” Tennyson demanded.

  Shauna rose, blocking the special agent’s view of Hunter. He didn’t need her protection but appreciated it anyway.

  Before he responded to Tennyson, Shauna said, “Please give us some latitude. We’re exploring a theory of mine.”

  When Margo returned, she held a playbill for the play that Aitken had been in. He’d signed it, with love and gratitude and all that. And ended, “We shall both become Big in the Theater.” Both the B and T were capitalized, and as ornate as the man’s flourish of a signature, which followed.

  Big T.

  “I’ll be damned,” Simon said from behind Hunter’s elbow. “I believe we have ourselves a suspect.”

  But Hunter wanted to be sure.

  “Then you do think your friend Aitken could be the kidnapper?” Holding the playbill, Hunter got right in Margo’s face. When she tried to look away, he moved again. No way would he let her out of his focus.

  “He hasn’t been in anything for a while. He quit his job as a waiter a while back, before the play, and I never asked how he was making ends meet. Maybe he wasn’t. I thought he was out of town on an audition.” Margo was breathing harder now. Looking like the proverbial deer in the head-lights—only these lights were Hunter’s angry eyes.

  “Then the answer is yes?” he insisted. “John Keenan Aitken could be Andee’s kidnapper?”

  “Well…yes, I’m afraid he could be,” Margo said.

  Hunter met Shauna’s gaze. Her eyes glittered.

  If all these people hadn’t been around, Hunter would have grabbed her, hugged her, kissed her silly—and maybe even more.

  This woman had done what all the experts—professional investigators, cops, feds—couldn’t do.

  Not only had she written a stupid story that had been coming true, morphing as reality had changed, she’d come up with the only viable lead about the man who’d kidnapped his daughter.

  He smiled at her. “Thanks,” he said softly, knowing how inadequate it was.

  A couple of tears ran down her cheeks.

  Damn. He knew what she was thinking and was glad she couldn’t say it.

  For with all they now knew—or at least suspected—she probably still thought the ending of her story would stay the same.

  Well, he’d show her.

  He’d fix her story.

  For now, at last, he really had reason to hope.

  Chapter 14

  Despite her exhaustion at this late hour, her unrelenting concern, Shauna felt exhilarated—mostly because of the energy streaming from Hunter.

  He had insisted on participating in the convening of law-enforcement agencies at John Keenan Aitken’s last-known address. It was in a three-story apartment building in one of Hollywood’s seediest areas. Margo had provided the address, but Shauna learned the place’s condition by accompanying Hunter. She hadn’t given him an opportunity to object. She’d simply slipped into his car’s passenger seat.

  Tennyson, not surprisingly, insisted that they both stay back while the official investigation was conducted. Banger and he joined the police and FBI agents who approached the building.

  While they waited in the car, Hunter took Shauna’s hand. Held it as tightly as if he considered it a good luck charm.

  She knew better. Still, she gripped him back, reveling, for this moment, in the touch of his warm, rough skin, the unconscious stroking of his index finger attesting to his edginess. She tried hard not to let such a simple contact ignite embers within her that had been rekindled—had it only been one night ago? She still burned from their lovemaking, ached for more each moment she remained with Hunter.

  Once, their holding hands had felt as natural as drinking water during a run together at dawn along already-hot Oasis streets. Tonight, it felt bittersweet. Temporary.

  But for now, ignoring all there was—and wasn’t—between them, she shared Hunter’s excitement and hope. Would it end this easily? Would the authorities find Andee alive and well despite her story, and capture her captor, Big T?

  She couldn’t believe it would happen that way even as she prayed, for Hunter’s sake, that it would.

  She watched his profile in the faint illumination as he stared out the windshield toward the apartment building. His eyes glowing with anticipation, his strong chin raised, he had never looked more handsome. If only—

  Tearing her thoughts from that useless direction, Shauna watched out the windshield, too, observing the hushed street. Unmarked cars and black-and-whites were double-and triple-parked in a choreographed blockade of vehicles, though pedestrians were not yet kept away. A few locals strolled the opposite side of the street briskly beneath the streetlights, their lack of curiosity either feigned or genuine in this area where oddity was the norm. The homeless, dirty and disheveled, ambled slowly, with no place to go. A couple stopped and stared at the extra traffic on the street and moved on.

  At least the media wasn’t there yet.

  “It’s taking too long,” Hunter muttered after a while.

  “They can’t just rush the place, for Andee’s sake,” Shauna said gently.

  “Yeah, but—” He broke off so abruptly that Shauna looked in the same direction he’d been facing.

  Banger was leaving the building. His expression was blank.

  Andee wasn’t with him. Neither was Big T.

  Hunter abruptly released Shauna’s hand and opened his car door.

  She joined the men on the sidewalk, along with others who’d gone inside with Banger and Tennyson.

  “Well?” Hunter demanded.

  Banger gave an angry shake of his head. “He’s gone,” he growled.

  Okay, they’d expected that. Or so Hunter told himself as he opened the car door for Shauna, then got in himself.

  Discouraged? Hell, no. Not him.

  After all, Banger said that the building manager, after
being roused from sleep and shown official IDs, had given up Aitken’s forwarding address—unfortunately, a P.O. box in another Hollywood zip code. It would take a little while to get the street address of the person who’d rented the box. Also, steps were being taken to get the information behind Aitken’s cell phone number, which Margo had given to them, too. Banger said preliminary forensics had determined Aitken’s prints were all over Margo’s house, not that anyone had been surprised.

  Hunter had sent Simon home to his computer, where he could access all the databases Strahm Solutions subscribed to and some they didn’t. He’d soon have all that information available on Aitken, too.

  And him? He was going home. With Shauna.

  To work, once more, on her story, without the distractions and interruptions they’d have at his office. With Big T now identified, Shauna could change the story and save the changes.

  Including the ending.

  And he would have the great satisfaction of updating his strategy plan on his computer. Finally he would get some degree of control over this miserable situation.

  Top of his list: No matter what the cops were doing, how they were doing it, he would find Aitken. Fast.

  Very soon, he would have his daughter home, safe and sound.

  “Where are we going?” Shauna swallowed a yawn. He stole a glance at her as he wove through Hollywood streets. Her lovely brown eyes were too wide, as though held open by force of will.

  “To my place, to get you some sleep.”

  She sat up straighter. “I hope you’re not thinking you’re going to leave me there and go gallivanting off without me.”

  If they weren’t both strapped into seat belts, he might have done something foolish and taken her into his arms. She looked as if she would fall fast asleep in an instant, and she still insisted on helping him.

  “I wouldn’t dare,” he replied. “But you look as if you’re going to keel over.”

  “You’ve got to be tired, too.” She shifted her long, jeans-clad legs as if needing to stretch them in the cramped car.

  He ignored his body’s instinctive reaction to her unconsciously sexy movements. “I’ll sleep when we have Andee back.” From the corner of his eye, he saw Shauna’s mouth open as if she prepared to say something, but she remained quiet. “I know what you’re thinking,” he muttered.