Redeeming the Night

by Kristine Overbrook

  Tarma stopped her work and stared at Ashley with an open mouth. “That is serious.”

  “I know.” Ashley wanted to wail but thought better of it. The whole house didn’t need to know.

  “What did his aura look like?” Tarma tucked away what was now half of a blanket.

  “There was white.” Ashley tried to remember what she’d pushed into the back of her mind. “With blue, green, and gold flecks and streaks.” She felt her face start to soften and hardened her features. She couldn’t let even an untainted soul weaken her. “But there was a shadow. Not a darkness … It was like nothing I’ve ever seen before.”

  “It sounds pure enough,” Tarma said. “Why do you think you wanted to fall at his feet?”

  Ashley cringed. “In his arms, not at his feet.”

  “Ashley, dear, you know it amounts to the same thing. Keep me apprised of the situation, please.” Tarma hefted her basket, and with a nod, she left the room.

  Was it the same thing? Ashley wouldn’t serve him and certainly would never fall at his feet. Still, something about him touched her. That could not be tolerated—because she liked it and wanted more.

  Chapter 4

  The drive to the upscale neighborhood where the Koburns lived took about half an hour. Every now and then there would be a break between the rows of houses and Eric could see down the mountain.

  On the drive, they’d passed schools and grocery stores. A park where teens were playing soccer. Normal life in normal towns. Not the image usually conjured when one thought of Las Vegas.

  The Koburn home looked similar to its neighbors. A small mansion with gray-green siding and white trim, separated from the street by a large lawn framed by flowerbeds.

  They said nothing as they approached the house. Eric opened his senses. Two small animals had a den under a bush by the front wall, and a snake kept watch from under a small rock.

  The path to and from the front door was practically littered with scents. Without a specific target, even he wouldn’t have the ability to distinguish one from the hordes of others.

  They were greeted at the door by a well-dressed woman in her mid-thirties. Her navy blue blouse was both flattering and somber. Her hair and makeup were perfect. The only outward sign of her distress was the rigid way she answered the door. Eric knew she was panicked and near to falling apart. “Detective. Have you found our daughter?”

  “Not yet, Mrs. Koburn. I’ve called in a colleague, Eric Adams”—he indicated Eric—“who specializes in missing persons.”

  She hesitated, as if considering the wisdom of telling someone else about their personal problems. “Very well.” Two words that to any other ear would sound aloof, however, Eric heard a glimmer of hope. He hoped with her.

  As the door opened Eric could see the evidence of Mr. Koburn’s financial success. Marble floors, large artwork in heavy frames, and a chandelier overhead that looked wide enough to take out the three of them if it should fall.

  “Mrs. Koburn, I have a few follow-up questions for you and your husband. Is he in?” Aaron asked, taking the lead.

  “And I suppose Mr. Adams needs to see her room.” She stood with her hands listlessly by her sides, exhaustion marking every inch of her.

  “It would help. Yes, ma’am,” Aaron replied.

  Her gaze burned into Eric. Angry and frightened for her daughter, she had very little control, and Eric knew she was fighting against the urge to scream at them to stop wasting time and that even exhausted she was ready to begin house-to-house searches on her own.

  Eric kept his expression soft while he said, “I believe I can help.”

  They remained in their positions for a moment before she rolled back her shoulders and looked pointedly at Aaron. “You know the way to Olivia’s room, please show him up. I’ll find Miles.” As she strode away the crack her heels made against the marble echoed through the vaulted room.

  Eric arched an eyebrow at Aaron, who shrugged. “She’s used to being in control, and now she has none.” Aaron led the way up the massive staircase. “The bedrooms are this way. Olivia’s faces the back; her parents’ is across the hall on the front.”

  At the top of the stairs Aaron turned left.

  “What’s to the right?” Eric asked.

  “Upstairs living room, guest bedroom, and a private office. I got the full tour when we came here the first time.” Aaron turned right and entered what Eric assumed to be Olivia’s bedroom, but once they were inside he saw no sign of a bed.

  “This is her living area.” Aaron motioned to the desk and shelves of books. “Her bedroom is through here.”

  Now this looked like a little girl’s room. An entire wall of white shelves held dolls and figurines. All of the wood in the room had been painted white. The curtains, throw rug, and bedspread were done in the bright colors of Easter and little girls.

  Nothing in the room seemed out of place. No stray dishes or clothes. No toys strewn about. It felt safe to assume when you grew up with someone else putting your things away, if you wanted privacy, you learned to do it yourself. “When you talk with the parents, ask if they’ve had the room cleaned in any way since she left.”

  “We haven’t.” The man that stood in the doorway wore a suit. A black tie was knotted at his throat. “I’d appreciate it if you can make this quick; I have business associates downstairs.”

  “I understand,” Aaron said. He quickly introduced Eric to Mr. Koburn. “Let’s talk in the sitting room.”

  “Not even to vacuum or dust?” Eric asked as they filed into Olivia’s sitting area.

  “No,” Mrs. Koburn said. “Maria doesn’t come until tomorrow.”

  Eric turned back to the room. If the others were watching him it might appear as though he was simply staring. Of all his new abilities, his incredible sense of smell was by far the most useful in this situation. He breathed deeply, feeling the scents of everyone who’d been in the room. He moved slowly, leaning toward her closet and then the bed. Both were places where the girl’s fragrances would be prominent.

  He began to separate and identify the smells. The girl and what was most likely the housekeeper permeated the entire room. There were others of course—her parents, Aaron, and even officer McMillan, most likely from when they first investigated the girl’s disappearance.

  But there was something else. Another scent on the bed. The closer he leaned, the stronger the scent. Stepping to the edge of the bed Eric donned a pair of gloves. Like the pictures of women’s beds in every advertisement he’d ever seen, the head of the bed was loaded with pillows, including two fancy ones outside of the comforter. He carefully moved these to the end of the bed. Then he pulled back the quilted cacophony of pastels.

  The sheet set was light pink, as were most of the pillows. Tucked under the sheets, resting its head against the mountain of pillows, was what appeared to be a ragdoll in pink pajamas.

  The doll itself seemed to be of simple construction. Two pieces, front and back, with arms and legs jutting out from the body like a gingerbread man. The face appeared to be drawn on by a marker. Odder still were the clothes. Pink and silky, certainly cleaner than the body of the doll, with seams on the outside as if stitched in haste.

  What’s more, the doll smelled very little like the rest of the room. It was newly introduced. He’d bet it had never been washed in the family’s laundry. Until he talked to the Koburns he didn’t want to move it, so he leaned in and sniffed, then moved about the room to track the scent.

  Sure enough, the scent traced a line across the floor to a dresser topped with an ornate mirror in one corner of the room. Then it went through glass doors to a balcony. His stomach sank. However the abductor had managed it, he’d left with the girl this way.

  As Eric turned from the doors he heard a throat clear behind him. Aaron and the Koburns were standing in the door. “Mr. and Mrs. Koburn,” he began after he got the nod from Aaron, “are you familiar with all of your daughter’s toys?”

  Mr. Koburn sh
rugged and shook his head, but his wife nodded. “Most of them, yes. She received an allowance for little chores so she bought a few on her own. She liked to show them to me, though.”

  Eric nodded. “Without touching, can you tell me if the doll on the bed is familiar to you?”

  She leaned over. “I’ve never seen that before in my life.” She straightened, eyes wide and wild, and wrapped her arms about herself, as her husband leaned in for a look.

  Mr. Koburn scowled. “What does this mean? Did she run away? She left a note. Where did that come from?” He looked at Aaron then back at the doll. He whispered, “Was she kidnapped?”

  Eric removed an evidence bag from his pocket and, using his gloved hand, tucked the doll into it. “We’re not sure.”

  Aaron said, “I know you have business associates here, but we would like to have our forensics team come by and process this room.” Mr. Koburn nodded, his hands clenched, his jaw set.

  “There is still a chance she ran away?” Mrs. Koburn asked.

  Aaron shook his head. “There’s a chance, but in my opinion, it’s a small one. I think we should look at this like a kidnapping until we know it’s not.”

  “But the note … ” Tears welled in Mrs. Koburn’s eyes.

  “Notes can be forged,” Eric said.

  “Of course they can.” Mr. Koburn frowned. “We should have looked at it this way from the beginning. I’m sorry.” Eric couldn’t tell if he was talking to Aaron, his wife, or his missing daughter. To Aaron he said, “Call your team. My associates are leaving now.”

  • • •

  The afternoon came and went. Twilight deepened into night. While the forensics team swept the room, Aaron and Eric checked the backyard. Olivia’s bedroom balcony attached to a system of balconies and decks that led to the yard. The lawn was bordered by a short rock wall. Beyond that, the hillside sloped to a road below.

  Eric paced the rock wall. Her scent was here; the kidnapper’s had to be as well. Days had passed since she was reported missing. Winds had blown. Animals had crossed the trail. Still, he had to find something. The kidnapper would have had to crawl over the wall, taken his time, stayed down. Eric knew if he wanted to find a scent this would be the place to do it.

  Finally, something caught his attention behind a garden of ornamental grass. He’d stooped to get a good whiff and saw a slight indentation in the dirt when Aaron tapped him on his shoulder. “Hard to find something in the dark.”

  “Yeah.” Eric cleared his throat. “Do you have a flashlight?”

  Aaron grunted, clicked on a small LED light, and handed it over. “I heard you sniffing.”

  “Hay fever,” Eric said. Aaron obviously didn’t want to let this go, but maybe he could be distracted. “I’ve got a partial shoe print. I think he took this route over the wall.”

  Using his radio, Aaron called someone over to take a cast of the print. They looked for fibers or any other signs of the kidnapper’s passage and found nothing.

  “Did you get a list of Miles Koburn’s business associates?” Eric asked. The cold trail irked. He’d expected to find some other evidence, something else that would allow him to find this girl.

  “And the service people,” Aaron confirmed. “The Koburns’ as well as their neighbors’. You know the feds are automatically notified on kidnappings. They arrived while you were scoping out the hillside.”

  “Are we off the case?” Eric stretched and crawled over the wall down the hillside to the road below. No skid marks.

  “No, not entirely. We have a good relationship with the local office. They’re keeping us in the loop. We just have to do the same.” Aaron scratched his cheek.

  “No reason to follow the same leads.” Eric inspected the side of the road. Gum, cigarette butts, and bits of glass, but that was all.

  “Exactly. They’re having their lab work on the shoe print and the doll.” Aaron made a note on his tablet.

  Eric’s gut said the normal avenues—interviews with the girl’s school friends and knocking on doors at ten o’clock at night—wouldn’t work. And the regular service people wouldn’t have taken a child from the homes where they were employed. But the interviews had to be done, and the sooner they got started the better.

  After hours talking to neighbors, weepy little girls, and irate parents, they headed back to the car. Eric stifled a growl. “It always feels like a waste of time asking questions of people who know nothing.”

  Aaron said, “It’s late. I’m starving and could use a drink. What do you say?”

  “I’m in,” Max said, jogging up from behind them.

  He hadn’t exactly been invited, but Eric caught Aaron’s eye and shrugged. The animated young cop might distract from the fact that they had to wait for tests to come back before they could hope to save the girl.

  “Fine,” Aaron said, clapping Max on the shoulder, “but you get the first round.”

  “As long as I get to pick the place,” Max said.

  “As long as it has food,” Eric agreed.

  • • •

  It was a club off the Strip called The Layer, and according to Max it was the hottest new bar in town. The outside looked like a warehouse. As they pulled in, the only tip-off that it housed a club was the line of people wrapped around the building.

  “Looks like there’s a wait,” Eric said, getting out of the car. “I’d rather eat fast food than wait in that line.”

  “Don’t worry, we’ll get in.” Max led the way with a swagger. Eric and Aaron exchanged smirks behind his back as they followed. Max had already proved entertaining.

  To one side of the door stood a woman in a black leather pantsuit holding a clipboard. On either side of her stood two extremely large men. “Obviously hired for their personality,” Eric whispered to Aaron as Max walked up to the woman who had just waved a couple more people inside.

  Max placed a hand on the small of her back and whispered in her ear. After a second, she flipped her dark red hair back, looked all three men over, and smiled.

  Reaching into her very low-cut blouse she removed a business card and handed it to Max with a wink.

  Max nodded to her, tucked the card in his pocket, and led the way into the club.

  “Do we want to know what you said to her?” Eric asked once they’d picked out a table to the right of the large dance floor.

  Max grinned. “No.”

  Aaron asked, “Will I have to arrest you?”

  Max’s smile remained as he waved a waitress over.

  “What’ll it be, boys?” The waitress seemed to be wearing a form-fitting tuxedo, but once Eric looked closer he realized it was body paint. All she really wore was a small string bikini.

  They ordered a pitcher of beer and a pizza.

  “Are you attached, Detective?” Max asked Eric.

  “Married to the job.”

  “Then here’s to open relationships,” Max toasted, and the other two lifted their beers in response.

  “Vivian is understanding about the job that way,” Aaron said of his wife. “Speaking of Viv, you know you can’t leave town without coming by the house to say hello.”

  “I will,” Eric said. “Even so, I can’t stay in town long. My old partner got married and is having a baby. For some reason, she wants me to be there when she delivers.”

  “When is she due?”

  “Two weeks. I hope we find Olivia before then.”

  The three of them sat in silence for a while before Max cleared his throat. “In the spirit of open relationships,” he picked up where he’d left off, “I’ve got a game for us to play.” Max rubbed his hands together. “We take turns picking women for the other to get their numbers. Aaron, your relationship is as open as Viv will allow, so you keep score. We each have five minutes to get a phone number.”

  “If we don’t get it?”

  “You do a shot of whiskey,” Max replied.

  Aaron let out an exaggerated “ooh.”

  Max laughed. “It’s actually a g
ood thing. The more you drink, the more you relax. The more relaxed you are, the more likely you’ll get phone numbers.” Max sipped his beer regally. “Now, who to send you after first … ”

  “Her in the green.” Aaron indicated one of three women who had just sat down from a turn on the dance floor.

  Eric took a sip and stood. “Wait, what happens when I get the number?”

  “Then I take a shot of whiskey,” Max said.

  “The idea is for us to just get drunk then.” When Max nodded, Eric chuckled and made his way over to the table. He’d had a high tolerance for alcohol before he became a werewolf. Now, poor Max didn’t stand a chance.

  “Good evening, ladies,” he said when he stood at their table. “My friend over there dared me to get your phone numbers. So, would you mind if I joined you?”

  They studied him warily, but one waved him to a seat. Max was going to get very drunk.

  The women watched him as if he were about to pounce. He smiled and touched the hand of the woman on his right. “I’d rather leave you in peace, but my buddy over there thinks I have a problem picking up women.”

  The woman on his right leaned toward him. “I doubt that.” She moistened her lips and ran her thumb across his index finger. “I’m Jean.”

  “Yeah, well.” He placed his other hand on top of hers and smiled at her friends. “If I came back with all three of your numbers I’d be off to a good start.”

  “I’ll bet you would.” The one on his left, not nearly as inebriated as her friends, looked him over closely.

  “Amanda’s our DD,” Jean said, disengaging her hand and scribbling on a napkin. “It’s even my real number.”

  “That’s great. Thanks.” He took the napkin from her and raised an eyebrow at the other two, breaking out a charming expression that he used to use with his nana to get extra dessert. “Please.”

  “Oh, God, don’t beg.” Amanda wrote a number down and passed it to him, the hint of a smile playing on her lips.

  The last woman leaned over the table to run her napkin over his lips. “Mine’s real, too.” Her dress dipped to expose impressive cleavage. “Everything’s real.”