Vanished (Private Justice Book #1): A Novel

by Irene Hannon

  But someone was in there.

  Now what?

  He wiped a hand down his face. Clenched his fingers around the steering wheel. Could he do what had to be done without alerting the occupant to his presence?

  No.

  He might be able to dig quietly, but he needed to drive to the back of the property to deal with the rest of the task, and the crunch of gravel would give him away—because if the cabin was occupied, the windows would be open. There wasn’t any air-conditioning. What was the use of going to the country if you were going to breathe recycled air, Ted always said. You could do that at home. So if you were in the cabin in nice weather, you opened the windows or it got too stuffy. Ken knew that from personal experience.

  Tonight’s trip was a bust.

  But who was in the cabin? And how long would they be there?

  Maybe he should poke around, as long as he’d made the drive out here.

  He flipped off the dome light but left the motor running. It would make too much noise if he had to restart it. Then he opened the door and stepped out. Hesitated. Should he change into the work boots he’d bought, or leave on his dress shoes? He scoped out the ground. Dress shoes. He wasn’t going far, and the earth was dry.

  Ken scanned the road behind him as he clicked the door shut. He’d pulled far enough into the drive that his car shouldn’t attract attention. There was minimal traffic on this narrow two-lane stretch, anyway, especially late at night, and he wouldn’t be here long.

  Braving the poison ivy, he hugged the edge of the overgrown drive, avoiding the gravel as much as possible as he kept one eye on the house. The light was still on, but there was no other sign of activity.

  When he reached the back of the cabin, a late-model Acura came into view.

  His neighbor’s car.

  Ken stared at it through the darkness. Ted had come out here . . . how often? Two, three times in the past four years? And he’d picked tonight to pay a visit? How odd was that?

  His neighbor wouldn’t stay long, though. He never did, these days. A night or two, max. Ellen might know his plans. She talked to Rose a lot. He’d have to see what he could ferret out tomorrow.

  For now, he might as well call it a night. There was nothing he could do here without risking discovery. He’d have to psyche himself up all over again in a few days and try again.

  Living with the delay, however, would be difficult—and worrisome.

  But he had no choice. He’d have to suck it up and cope.

  Turning, he started back toward his car, once more staying off the gravel as much as possible, doing his best to reassure himself and mitigate his gnawing anxiety. There couldn’t be much chance that reporter knew about his connection to this place. How would she have found out? He hadn’t been here since that night, and there was almost no chance she’d ever met Ted.

  Then again, how had she known about Verna?

  Despite the balmy air, a ripple of unease shuddered through him as he slid behind the wheel, put the car in reverse, and slowly backed toward the road in the darkness. The gravel crunched beneath his tires, and he cringed, holding his breath until he was safely back on the asphalt and pointed toward St. Louis.

  As the car accelerated, he exhaled.

  He hadn’t accomplished his mission tonight.

  But he’d be back soon to finish the job.

  “Ted. Ted!”

  At the prod in his side, Ted blinked himself back to consciousness and turned toward Rose. She stood beside the bed, backlit by the light from the hall, her face in shadows, hugging her robe around her.

  “What’s wrong, honey? What are you doing up?”

  “I was thirsty. But I heard a noise when I was in the kitchen.”

  He stifled a sigh. No doubt she had. The country was full of noises, and she was a city girl through and through. Every tiny unfamiliar sound scared her. Squirrels scampering through the leaves. Acorns falling on the roof. The hoot of an owl.

  Still, she’d offered to come. And he wanted her to come again. It was the only way he got out here these days, thanks to the promise she’d extracted from him after that stupid move he’d pulled with the ax four years ago. Best to humor her.

  “What did you hear?”

  “It sounded like somebody pulled into the drive. I heard gravel crunching.”

  “Could have been a car turning around.”

  “At 11:30 at night?” She cast a furtive glance over her shoulder. “It might be someone who’s up to no good. There are a lot of hoodlums running around these days.”

  “Maybe it was a deer.”

  “Deer don’t make gravel crunch as loud as a tire.”

  He couldn’t argue with her logic.

  Resigning himself to a midnight foray, he flung back the covers and stood, pausing for a moment to give his eighty-two-year-old body a chance to adjust to the shift from horizontal to vertical. Time was, he could bound out of bed and take off at a gallop. Hard to believe he had eight decades behind him. Sure didn’t feel that old most days.

  “What are you going to do?”

  At Rose’s question, he grabbed his own robe, pushed his arms in the sleeves, and shoved his feet into the boots he wore for tromping around the place. “I’ll take a look around.”

  “Outside?”

  At the alarm in her voice, he circled the bed and drew her close. “Now, Rosie, don’t you worry. I’ve been coming here for almost half my life and I’ve never had a bit of trouble, except for those hunters I caught trespassing once twenty years ago.”

  “The world is a different place now. And there aren’t any neighbors close. If someone wanted to do bad things, this would be a perfect place for it. It’s very isolated here.” She clung to him.

  He preferred to think of it as private and peaceful, but he let her comment pass.

  “Tell you what. I’ll take my trusty sidearm, okay?”

  She backed off a bit, a frown deepening the permanent wrinkles on her brow. “I don’t like guns.”

  “They serve a purpose, though. Like providing protection—and peace of mind.” He touched her cheek, then crossed the room and retrieved his classic Smith & Wesson .38 from the hidden drawer in the antique chiffarobe he and Rose had picked up at an estate sale years ago. This whole thing was overkill, but if it made her feel better . . .

  “Is it loaded?” Her words were laced with trepidation.

  “Of course it’s loaded. Doesn’t do a person any good if it’s not.” He walked toward the hall. “I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

  She followed close behind. “Maybe we should call 911 instead.”

  As if the police didn’t have anything better to do than investigate a wayward deer or some kids out for a joyride.

  “Let me take a quick look first.” He hoped that would placate her.

  “All right. But be careful.”

  Mission accomplished.

  Gun in hand, feeling like an idiot, Ted exited through the front door. The moon was full, giving him excellent visibility despite his old eyes. The only sounds he heard were the typical stirrings of a country night. The rustle of wind in the trees. The muted buzz of cicadas. The scurrying sound of some rodents when his trek disturbed their nocturnal wanderings. But he circled the house. Checked the drive. Walked back far enough to survey the perimeter of the lake.

  Nothing.

  Stifling a yawn, he trudged back inside and smiled at Rose. “All secure. The only mean critter I saw was a raccoon that hissed at me after I interrupted his canoodling.” He put his arm around her shoulders and guided her back toward the bedroom. “What do you say we snuggle up and do a little canoodling ourselves?”

  She leaned into him, and he felt her relax against his weight. “You always were a sweet talker.”

  “Is it working?”

  She gave him a playful nudge. “We’re in our eighties. We’re getting too old to canoodle.”

  “Says who? There’s a lot of life left in these old bones. And I still think you’re
pretty as the day you stole my heart at that long-ago church picnic. The day your father told you to watch out for me because I had a roguish eye.”

  A soft flush spread over her cheeks. “Then you need to get your vision checked. I’m an old lady with white hair and wrinkles and baggy boobs.”

  “And feisty as ever.” He gave her a squeeze before growing more serious. “But I don’t need to get my vision checked. When I look at you, I see with my heart—and you’re beautiful.”

  She smiled and touched his cheek. “I love you, Ted Lauer. Happy birthday.”

  He checked his watch. “So it is. Just. And I appreciate you coming out here to help me celebrate, even though I know you’d rather be at the Ritz. I’ll also call the sheriff’s department in the morning and ask them to do a few more night drive-bys here, if that makes you feel more comfortable. In the meantime”—he grabbed her hand, planted a kiss on her cheek, and tugged her toward the bedroom—“I’m all ready for my birthday present.”

  20

  Dr. Blaine?”

  Blinking, Ken slanted a glance at the nurse on the other side of the draped patient. The surgical mask and cap hid most of her face, but the emotions in her eyes were easy to read—surprise, concern, puzzlement.

  Had she asked him something?

  He checked out the rest of his team. They were all watching him too—until one of them looked down.

  Dropping his own gaze, he discovered his fingers were trembling.

  Shock rippled through him.

  That had never, ever happened to him in surgery.

  Then again, he’d never before allowed himself to be distracted, even during a routine procedure like this laparoscopic appendectomy.

  Until today.

  Quickly reorienting himself—they were done, and all that remained was the cleanup—he kept his tone neutral as he spoke. “Did you have a question?”

  “No. You just . . . stopped. I wondered if anything was wrong.”

  Plenty. But he couldn’t let his off-the-job problems interfere with his work. The patients had to come first. This was not going to happen again.

  “I’m fine. Let’s remove the bougie and come to the outside. A single monocryl suture in each spot should be sufficient.”

  Everyone went back to their tasks in the silence typical of his procedures. He’d worked with most of the team members long enough to minimize the need for instruction. In general, they anticipated his directions—and they didn’t need him to hang around while they finished up.

  He was out of here—before he made another mistake.

  Stepping back, he tossed one final comment over his shoulder as he strode toward the exit. “Good work.”

  He didn’t wait for an acknowledgment.

  Once outside the door he paused, his gut churning. He’d done that entire procedure on autopilot. That was unprofessional—and wrong. Every single patient deserved his full and undivided attention.

  His father would not approve of his lapse.

  Fingers fumbling, he pulled his mask down. Inhaled, slow and steady. Tonight, he’d find out what Ellen knew about Ted’s plans. Until then, however, his patients had to come first. He had to compartmentalize and give his full attention to the job at hand.

  Because he couldn’t afford any more slips—or suspicions.

  “Thanks. I appreciate the fast turnaround.” Cal pressed the end button on his BlackBerry and watched through the passenger-side window of the Taurus as a plane took off from Spirit airport.

  “Was that the lab?” Connor looked over at him as he swung into the hangar area.

  “Yeah. It’s a match. The tooth belonged to Olivia Lange.”

  “That moves Blaine closer to the hot seat.”

  “Close isn’t good enough.” Cal expelled a frustrated breath. “Everything we have is circumstantial.”

  “You need to find Olivia.”

  “High on my priority list when we get back. And I know just where to start.”

  Connor pulled into a parking spot, and he reached for the door handle as the other man set the brake.

  “Cal.”

  At his partner’s serious tone, he stopped and glanced back. Connor was wearing his don’t-mess-with-me-I-want-the-truth expression.

  “Are you gonna be with us on this protection gig?”

  His buddy’s query was like the proverbial bucket of cold water over the head. Based on the intel Connor had gathered, the trip to Mexico was rife with risk. Far more than they’d initially anticipated. Last week, another executive had been ambushed and wounded while traveling in the very area they were headed. Hopefully their own trip would be hassle-free, but they all needed to be at the top of their game and on full alert in case things went south. None of them could afford to be distracted.

  Cal exhaled. He had to put the situation with Blaine—and his worry about Moira—out of his mind and focus on the job at hand until he got back. His partners trusted him to carry his weight, and he had no intention of letting them down.

  “Yes.” He met Connor’s gaze steadily. “Once we get on that plane, my head will be in Mexico.”

  Silence for a moment as Connor appraised him. Then he gave a curt nod. “Okay.” Pulling the keys out of the ignition with one hand, he gestured behind Cal with the other. “Dev’s here. Let’s roll.”

  Cal opened his door, grabbed his duffel bag off the backseat, and followed Connor toward the hangar. He’d keep his promise and switch gears as soon as they boarded the waiting corporate jet. He’d become an expert at that sort of mind-shift after Lindsey was killed. It had been a matter of survival.

  But before he transitioned fully into Mexico mode, he intended to keep his promise to Moira and pass on the lab results.

  As well as one last warning to be careful.

  “I thought Friday would never get here.” Linda settled a hip on the corner of Moira’s desk. “Any big plans for the weekend?”

  “Nope.” She shut down her computer. “Unlike someone I know, who’s planning to spend the next two days in Chicago.”

  Linda wrinkled her nose. “I’m not all that excited about the trip, to be honest. From everything I’ve heard, attending a spouse’s high school reunion is about as exciting as peeling hardboiled eggs.”

  Sniggering, Moira slung her purse over her shoulder, shoved her laptop into its case, and stood. “I have to admit, relaxing with a book on my patio does sound like a better option. Unless my neighbor is in a country music mood.”

  “If you hear it often enough, you might become a fan.”

  “Don’t hold your breath.”

  “Maybe Cal will get back in time to rescue you. He’s coming home tonight, isn’t he?”

  “Yes. Too late to get together, though.”

  Linda pushed herself to her feet. “Did you hear from him at all while he was gone?”

  “No. I didn’t expect to. It was an intense trip.”

  “Maybe he’ll make up for that lack of communication tomorrow or Sunday.” Linda nudged her and stretched. “If so, be sure to take advantage of whatever he might offer.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind. And during our walk on Monday, I want a blow-by-blow of the reunion.”

  “Okay, but prepare to be bored out of your mind. Oh, well . . . the food might be enjoyable, at least. The dinner’s at some gourmet restaurant.” With a wave, Linda sauntered back toward her cube.

  Hefting her computer, Moira headed for the elevator in the opposite direction. A night of reading, possibly serenaded by country music, was sounding less appealing by the minute.

  She pushed the button, and the elevator door opened almost at once. That was a nice change of pace—except it was packed. Taking a firm grip on her computer, she wedged herself in with the anxious-to-start-the-weekend crowd, most of whom no doubt had more exciting things to do with their Friday night than she did.

  As the elevator began its descent, she chewed on her lower lip. Surely there had to be a more interesting—and productive—way to spend her even
ing than reading and listening to twangy music. Like advancing their case against Blaine, perhaps?

  But what could she do? As Cal had pointed out, they were in a waiting mode. Verna Hafer’s autopsy was key to the next steps.

  The door opened, and the surging crowd thrust her into the lobby. Sheesh. You’d think there was a prize for the first person who made it to the exit.

  Resettling her purse on her shoulder, she followed at a more sedate pace. Once outside, she joined the throng moving toward the parking lot, keeping a lookout for a certain black Lexus. Not that there was much chance Blaine would be following her at this hour of the afternoon. Based on his schedule the day she’d shadowed him, he’d still be at his office.

  But speaking of following . . .

  As an idea began to percolate, she fished her keys out of her purse. She didn’t have anything better to do, and an evening of surveillance might be more stimulating than the book she was reading. Even if she didn’t learn anything new, at least she’d be making an effort to contribute to the case. After all the gratis hours Cal and the other Phoenix PIs had invested in the effort, it was the least she could do.

  Moira settled behind the wheel, started the engine, and put the car in gear. Cal had warned her to be careful, but how dangerous could this be? Most likely Blaine would pull into his driveway and stay put for the night. She’d end up spending the evening listening to music of her choice—rather than her neighbor’s—while she sat down the street and watched his house.

  And if he did happen to go anywhere, she’d stay far enough back to keep from being spotted. She’d also pull her hair back with the scrunchy she kept in her purse and wear her sunglasses. Her windshields were tinted too, though not as dark as the vehicles in the Phoenix fleet. But sufficient to give her some privacy. And she’d keep her doors locked.

  She released the brake. As far as she could see, there was no downside to her plan—and it was a far better use of her evening.

  Angling her wrist, she checked her watch. If Blaine was following his usual routine, he wouldn’t leave his office until 6:00. That gave her time to grab some food and a beverage. A small one. She’d learned her lesson on that score the hard way. She could also swing by the condo and rummage through the closet for the binoculars her dad had given her years ago for their occasional outings to the bleachers to see the Cards play or to take in an outdoor show at the Muny from the nosebleed section. They might come in handy, as they had the night she and Cal had followed Blaine to the Taco Bell dumpster.