On the Hunt

by Teyla Branton

  To right wrongs, to help people, to discover truths—even if they weren’t what anyone expected.

  What we’d discovered about Dennis certainly hadn’t been in any of Sophie’s wildest dreams.

  Stop delaying, I told myself.

  I reached into the bag. I wasn’t sure if I was more afraid of not finding an imprint about the kidnapping or discovering Jake’s recent feelings about me. About Kolonda. No one should have such a narrow peek into anyone’s life, especially not the person they loved. Moments of joy or anger or frustration were fleeting and couldn’t adequately show the sum of a person’s true feelings. While they may hint at the truth, imprints weren’t a fair way to judge an entire relationship, for good or bad. Dennis’s imprint on Sophie’s bracelet proved that much.

  I slid my hand under the phone. The plastic casing was warm, as though even in the bushes it had caught the rays of the setting sun. The instant I touched the phone an imprint came through. Something only a few hours old.

  I stared up at Kolonda’s house, my phone in hand. I wanted to tell Autumn what I discovered, but maybe that could wait until I filled Kolonda in. Anticipation at seeing Kolonda flooded me, but I was also afraid I wouldn’t measure up like the last time. She hadn’t changed at all, except maybe to become more beautiful and confident. Confusion ran deep at the feelings I still had for her.

  I wasn’t surprised at Jake’s feeling for Kolonda, but I was hurt. It doesn’t mean anything, I told myself. Anyone would feel the same about an old flame—especially one as beautiful and needy as Kolonda.

  The imprint continued, and I forced myself to pay attention.

  Strong arms grabbed me from behind. Twisting, I saw an Asian man. I threw a punch at him, following up with a satisfying kick to the man’s knee. Another figure in my peripheral vision. Whipping around. Slamming my hand, still clutching the phone, into a second attacker—a nondescript white man with brown hair.

  Pain burst in the back of my head. I fell to one knee, and hands began dragging me to the gray van. Fear pounded in my heart. Why were they doing this? What did they want? Who were they?

  The door of the van opened, and I caught a glimpse of another man’s face before a blindfold cut off my vision. Struggling, I thrust out my hand and blindly tossed the phone with the thought: Find me, Autumn.

  The imprint cut off, but not before recognition flooded me. I knew the man in the van. Jake hadn’t—and his brief view wouldn’t likely be enough to recall the man if he were to see him later in a lineup—but I had talked with this guy at length, studied him. The abduction had taken mere seconds, but it was enough to tell me what I needed to know.

  Other images were coming from the phone now. Older, rapid imprints, none easily identified. Vague, as though at different times Jake had felt strong emotion while using the phone—frustration directed at his sister, Randa, warmth at the thought of me, excitement at finding a new herb for the shop. The emotions blended until I could barely pick them apart. I let the phone drop back into the bag and turned to face Paige.

  “What is it? You don’t look so hot.”

  “I know why Ian canceled your date.”

  Her head moved back and forth slowly. “It can’t be.”

  “He was in the van. Jake saw him. He didn’t recognize Ian, but I did. I didn’t recognize the Asian at all. Not Saito’s man.”

  “If Ian’s involved, that means Russo could be, too. Either Russo’s the developer building that shopping center Claire talked about and Ian’s cleaning up for him, or Ian knows the plan and is working a side scheme all on his own.”

  “His law firm’s income isn’t enough for him?”

  “The more money some people get, the more they crave.” Paige’s voice was bitter. “At least we know who has Jake.”

  “Where would he keep him?”

  “I don’t know. I say we pay Mr. Gideon a visit.”

  “You sure you’re up to it?”

  “Oh, yeah.” Eagerness glittered in her eyes. “But let’s stop at Walmart and grab another blouse. It’s probably the only place open now. We’re going to make a nice little social call to Mr. Creepo Gideon.”

  I didn’t see Paige as the kind to shop at Walmart, but my estimation of her shot up. This scorned woman was going in for the kill.

  A tapping at my window drew our attention, and we turned to see Kolonda standing outside the police car. I hit the button to roll down the window, but nothing happened until Paige turned the key in the ignition.

  “Uh, I wanted to know if you’d found any leads,” Kolonda said before the glass had descended halfway.

  I was loath to tell this woman anything—this woman who might be close to reclaiming Jake’s heart. I glanced at Paige, who said, “We do have a lead to a man we think might be working for another man, though at the moment we have no proof of them taking Jake.”

  “That reminds me,” I added, “You said you kept the pen of that contractor who tried to get you to sign over your buildings? Did you ever find it?”

  Kolonda blinked her surprise. “What does that have to do with anything?”

  “If you have it, we might be able to identify the man responsible for taking Jake.”

  “I already know who owns the pen. Tony Blancher, the scumbag contractor who’s trying to steal my property.”

  “I mean the man who hired him. Please, do you have it?” I felt some satisfaction that Jake hadn’t explained about my ability. I’d as much given him permission at his grandmother’s apartment, but he hadn’t talked about my weirdness after all. I felt a rush of gratitude to him for protecting me from the ridicule so often directed my way by those who claimed to be educated—never mind that science hypothesized the possibility of psychometry.

  Or had he been ashamed?

  No, not Jake. He wore locs, after all, and had gone all over town with me in my bare feet. I found myself smiling. Hold on. I’m coming, Jake.

  “Well, if it will help. I think I have it inside. Do you want to wait?”

  “Sure. But hurry. We need to find Jake as soon as we can.”

  To her credit, Kolonda sprinted up the walk and into her house. Three minutes ticked by before she returned, holding the pen carefully between two fingers. “I already touched it a few times, so I don’t know if you’ll find fingerprints.”

  Those weren’t the prints I was concerned about, but I let her drop the pen into the plastic bag Paige handed me. Apparently the police department bought them in bulk. “Thanks.”

  “I feel so responsible,” Kolonda said. “He was only helping me, and if that contractor did something to him . . .” She stopped. “I know you two are together, but Jake’s special to me. He always has been.” Tears started in her eyes.

  “We’ll find him,” I told her. “Meanwhile, don’t sell your apartments to anyone, no matter what they say.”

  Her eyes widened. “You think they’d let Jake go if I sold out to them? I’d do it to help him.”

  I was sure Kolonda’s two buildings weren’t the sole reason they’d taken Jake. This deal was far larger, involving an entire block and millions of dollars. If anything, Jake’s snooping was likely the reason for his capture, not Kolonda’s refusal to sell out. Whoever was ultimately behind this wanted to keep all reference of the rezoning from the newspapers until he finished buying properties.

  “Under no conditions should you sign anything,” Paige said. “But we don’t think anyone will contact you. If they do, call me.” She handed Kolonda a card.

  “I will. Thanks.” Kolonda backed away, her sadness evident. For the first time, I noticed her eyes were red and swollen as if she’d been crying.

  Crying wouldn’t find Jake. I gritted my teeth and stared straight ahead.

  “Beautiful woman.” Paige eased the car into motion. “A relative of Jake’s?”

  “Old girlfriend.”

  “Doesn’t sound like she wants it to be over.”

  “Tell me something I don’t know.” The important question was how Ja
ke felt about Kolonda in return.

  “Are you going to read the pen?”

  “Of course.” As I touched my finger to the fat metal casing, a wave of greed flooded me, sticky and sweet.

  I stared into Kolonda’s beautiful face, trying not to smirk. Stupid broad thought I might actually take responsibility for this mess. My eyes shifted from her face, taking in a caved roof and the mess of insulation and debris spreading throughout the room.

  “Look, I’ll get back to you,” I said. “But you might be better off selling out to me. All these repairs will cost more than they’re worth. Better to make some money while you still can. I’ll come by your office later at the university and bring you a contract.”

  “I don’t want to sell. I want you to fix this like you should have in the first place.”

  “Sorry. Ain’t my responsibility.”

  I turned to go, a skyline of one tall building standing among shorter ones filling my sight through the apartment window.

  The imprint ended, and another sluggishly followed. I was looking into Ian’s face, greed pouring through me. I shook his hand. Nothing more.

  I sighed and released the pen. “Confirmation about Ian’s involvement in the real estate deals. He and the contractor signed an agreement that involved a lot of money. But that imprint’s old. About a year. I bet they’ve managed to buy or mess up quite a bit of properties since then.”

  Paige snorted. “On the construction side, all they’d have to do is always be the lowest bid and then do a shoddy job. That’d be enough to encourage people to sell out later.”

  “Until Jake got involved.”

  “We still don’t know if Ian’s acting on his own or for Russo.” Paige turned a corner that I recognized was close to Walmart.

  “I’m hoping it was Russo.” In fact, an idea was forming in my head of how to find proof that he was involved, proof that I might be able to use to help Dennis and his family. It was a long shot, but carefully planned, it might work.

  “Really?” Paige arched a brow. “Because I’d think he’d be the kind who would simply threaten people or make them disappear completely instead of wasting time doing shoddy construction work.”

  She had a point. If I wanted to find Jake alive, I’d better hope Ian was working alone.

  We arrived at Ian Gideon’s at ten twenty-one, thanks to Walmart’s self-checkout and someone at the precinct who found Gideon’s home address in record time. Paige and I both wore new tops, so we looked better than we had, but I longed to change my jeans, which, if I sniffed with too much concentration, smelled faintly of rotting garbage and gunpowder.

  Ian lived in an apartment building, and I doubted he’d have been able to take Jake there without alerting someone, much less keep him quiet. Of course, his first stop could have been the river, but I didn’t think Ian, even working with Russo, would be so casual about murder. Then again, I didn’t know the man very well. The only imprint I’d read from him had been on his ring when we’d shaken hands at the law firm—obviously a misleading imprint that had little to do with his true character.

  “I’ll distract him,” Paige said as we approached the glass doors to the building, “while you touch things. He must have left imprints somewhere.”

  “Got it.” I was beginning to wish we’d stopped for a hamburger. My longing for food always cranked up a notch when stress was involved. The imprints I’d experienced in the past two days had made it worse, pushing me to voracity.

  “Wait,” I said. “What if that employee of his told him about my ability?”

  “You mean that imbecile who called us when you showed up at the law firm, Ben or whatever? Ha. He didn’t believe a word you said, and I doubt he’d want to get on his boss’s nephew’s questionably crazy list for you.”

  “I hope you’re right.”

  “I am. What you should be hoping is that Ian’s home.”

  “Might be better if he’s not. Either way, I’m going inside.”

  Paige stared at me, but I didn’t back down. I was determined to find clues that would lead me to Jake, one way or another. Deciding it wasn’t worth a debate, she pushed the buzzer to an intercom on the sixth floor.

  “Who is it?” someone asked after a long minute of silence. I couldn’t tell who it was, but Paige had talked to Ian more than I had.

  “Hi, Ian. It’s Paige. I was in the area and thought I’d stop by to say hi. I was hoping you’d be off work by now.”

  “Uh . . . sure. Great! Come on up.” Despite the hesitation, he did seem happy to hear from her. Must mean that Jake wasn’t there, which I had already suspected but felt disappointed about anyway.

  On the way up in the elevator, Paige called the precinct. “Any news on Sawyer Briggs? That’s too bad. Tell Detective Martin where I am if he asks. Meanwhile, I want any information we can find on any properties Ian Gideon owns. Please send that and the list of Russo properties to this number. Thanks.”

  Ian was waiting for us in the hallway when we emerged from the elevator, a bottle of wine in his thin fingers. Surprise registered on his narrow face when he saw me.

  “I would have called,” Paige said, her voice slipping into flirtation mode, “but it really was spur of the moment. Autumn and I were in the neighborhood.”

  Ian took her hand, holding onto it as he spoke. “I’m actually here just to grab a bite of dinner. I have an appointment in about an hour back at the office—something I’m taking to court on Monday—but I couldn’t stand being at work another minute. The funny thing is, I was about to call you. See if you had time for a chat. It’s much better that you’re here.” He grinned and held up the bottle of wine. “Have time for a drink?”

  “Sure.” Paige smiled, which seemed to make Ian lose his train of thought.

  “Uh, come on. My apartment’s over here.” He led the way through the well-lighted hallway to a door he’d apparently left open.

  His place was obviously a bachelor pad. No flowers or women’s magazines on the coffee table, no assortment of photographs or anything I generally associated with women, such as throws or knickknacks. Chrome seemed the overriding theme in the apartment, everything modern and expensive, from the white, silver-tipped draperies and gray leather couch that looked brand-new to the chrome-and-glass coffee table and silver floor lamps. Occasional splashes of blue appeared in pictures on the wall and in throw rugs over the wood floor. Unlike some single men’s apartments I’d seen, I guessed that the decorator had been paid far too much for far too little. Poor Ian. He needed a woman’s touch—preferably from a woman with taste—and by the slight flaring of Paige’s nostrils at a particularly horrendous blue accent pillow, I knew she thought the same thing.

  “Please, have a seat.” Ian indicated the gray couch, onto which I settled with a little sigh. It was far more comfortable than it looked, and my estimation of the room’s designer went up infinitesimally. Not enough to make up for those draperies, though.

  Ian sat in a chair close to Paige’s side of the couch, twisting the cork from the bottle. I didn’t see where he’d gotten the glasses, but there were three of them so they had to be close by.

  “None for me,” I said, as he poured. “Though I’d love a cup of herbal tea, if you have any without caffeine.”

  “Yeah, in the kitchen. I think.” He hesitated before adding, “I’ll make you some.”

  I stood. “Don’t bother. You two talk. I’ll help myself—if that’s okay.”

  “Sure. It should be in the cupboard above the sink, I hope. I don’t drink it much.” He shrugged apologetically.

  Before I’d gone three feet, he’d already forgotten I was there. His eyes were riveted on Paige, whom I knew well enough to detect the tenseness in her shoulders and the forced way she laughed. He was attracted to her, which I found sad under the circumstances because after what we’d learned, Paige was more likely to pull her gun on him than to accept another date. If I didn’t find a clue to Jake’s whereabouts soon, I might go ahead and help myself
to her gun.

  “What happened to your face?” I heard Ian saying. I didn’t listen for her response.

  As I moved through the wide arch where I could see the kitchen, I touched one of the silver lamps, but there were no imprints. A two-foot silver statue, which looked antique but was an obvious rip-off to someone with an experienced eye, contained an imprint of a woman hoping Ian wouldn’t question the price tag she’d given him for the object, which she had bought new and sold to him after adding the antiquing. The profit she’d made was enough to make even an honest person think, however briefly, about changing professions.

  Laughter drifted in from the living room as I searched in the cupboard above Ian’s stainless steel refrigerator using a chair from the chrome-and-glass table. He had herbal tea all right, but even if I overlooked the thick film of dust on the carton, one glance at the ingredients told me it was awful—full of additives that would leave a nasty aftertaste. Peach, of course, one of the last teas I’d ever choose. The only other choice was black tea, not herbal at all, and I hated black tea. Even if I didn’t know Ian was holding Jake, I’d dislike him solely on the grounds of his tea choices. No one should inflict such tea on guests.

  A little more searching revealed a saucepan that would work to boil the water. Not that I intended to drink either of the teas and so could have used the microwave, which I ordinarily shunned, but boiling water the old-fashioned way would give me more time to search the kitchen. As the water heated, I trailed my hands over everything in sight—stainless steel appliances, the book on the counter, the dishes and pans, the stack of mail. There were imprints, but they were vague and fading. Nothing about Jake. I pushed on, opening another drawer. This one was full of junk.

  Ah, I thought. People often had these kinds of drawers—I had two myself—and I kept a lot of stuff I used often or couldn’t bear to throw away.

  “You finding everything?”

  I blinked at Ian, my hand poised over his drawer. “Spoons,” I said. “I need a spoon to mix in the sugar.” He couldn’t know that I never used regular sugar, could he?