Vanished (Private Justice Book #1): A Novel

by Irene Hannon

  As she joined the going-home traffic headed toward the I-64 westbound ramp from downtown, she toyed with the idea of calling Cal and filling him in on her plans. But he was busy. Besides, she could imagine his reaction: Leave this to the experts.

  And maybe that was sound advice.

  Still, what could it hurt to follow Blaine from a safe distance, if he in fact went anywhere? Besides, if he did, his destination might provide a clue of some kind. Someone needed to follow him more diligently. Cal and his cohorts were doing as much as they could in between paying jobs, but who knew what Blaine was up to when no one was watching? And the police weren’t yet interested enough to devote a lot of resources to this investigation. Who did that leave?

  Her.

  She switched lanes and pressed on the accelerator as she began to merge into the I-64 traffic. Okay. It was settled. She’d observe Blaine. Follow him, if necessary. Keep her distance.

  And she’d also do her best to keep her promise to Cal and not take any unnecessary chances.

  This was the night.

  Ken put the phone back into the cradle on his desk, his fingers quivering with nerves and anticipation. Ellen’s information had been correct, as Ted had just confirmed. Rose had surprised him with a trip to the cabin for his birthday, and they’d returned this afternoon after a wonderful three days. Ted had also brushed aside Ken’s apology for the belated birthday call, saying he’d gotten their card—Ellen’s doing, of course; she was good about remembering those sorts of social niceties—and with Ken’s busy life, he’d understood how it would be easy for yet another birthday from a neighbor who’d had so many to slip his mind.

  He’d also suggested that Ken carve out some time for a visit to the cabin. It might be exactly what he needed to help him unwind and lower his stress level.

  An excellent suggestion.

  One he intended to follow this very day.

  And if all went well, in a few short hours one very large stressor would be disposed of forever.

  Stifling a yawn, Moira adjusted the buds in her ears as she listened to Sarah Brightman from the original London cast recording of Phantom of the Opera. The soaring, dramatic music was the perfect thing to keep her awake as the digital clock on the dash slowly clicked, minute by minute, toward 9:30.

  Phantom was better than listening to someone sing about a redneck woman, but surveillance had been a lot more fun when Cal had been in the car with her. And three-and-a-half hours of restricted sitting behind her wheel was beginning to take a toll.

  Ten o’clock, she decided, as she rotated her neck to dispel the kinks. Blaine had been home for three hours, and if he didn’t venture out by then, there wasn’t much chance he had any plans for the evening that would take him away from the house.

  Two minutes ticked by. Four. Six. Eight.

  She was gaining a greater and greater respect for the kind of patience required to endure long-term surveillance.

  At the ten-minute mark, just as the chorus began to sing “Masquerade,” Blaine’s garage door opened four houses down, as if on cue to the music.

  Straightening up in her seat, Moira grabbed her binoculars.

  It was his Lexus pulling out, all right. And though she couldn’t make out the figure behind the wheel, she’d lay odds it was the doctor, not the wife.

  Where would he be going at this hour?

  Setting the binoculars back on the seat, she turned the key in the ignition but, following Cal’s example, left her headlights off. Too bad she didn’t have one of those nifty buttons he’d shown her on his car. The one that disengaged the backup and brake lights.

  Blaine backed out of the driveway and drove toward the entrance to the subdivision. She waited until his taillights receded, then pressed on the gas pedal. There could be a perfectly logical explanation for his excursion, of course. A late-night run for Chinese food. An emergency at the hospital. A sudden craving for a frozen custard from Ted Drewes. She’d been guilty of the latter herself on more than one occasion.

  But he drove by two Chinese restaurants. Ted Drewes got knocked out of the running when he turned west on I-64 instead of east. And the hospital emergency theory deflated after he passed up the exit for Mercy.

  He continued west. Toward Chesterfield. Toward the Missouri River bridge.

  Toward Defiance?

  Moira kept a steady pressure on the gas pedal, debating her next move. If Cal was here, it would be a no-brainer: call him and turn this tail over. Pronto. It was rapidly moving out of her league.

  But he wasn’t available—and she didn’t have his police contacts. A call out of the blue from her to law enforcement wasn’t likely to produce much action, and someone needed to follow Blaine or significant information might be lost.

  Keeping one hand on the wheel and one eye on Blaine, she opened her purse and fished out her distance glasses. Thank goodness she’d brought them tonight. She also snagged her cell phone. Cal had said to call him if she needed to, and her quiet-surveillance-turned-daunting-tail qualified. With his connections, it was possible he could muster the troops via phone. Get an unmarked cop car to fall in behind Blaine, based on her description of his location. It was worth a try. He should be close to landing, anyway. Maybe she’d get lucky.

  With one finger, she pressed Cal’s speed dial number.

  Three rings later, the phone rolled to voice mail.

  So much for luck.

  She waited for the beep. “Cal, it’s Moira. Since I didn’t have anything better to do tonight, I thought I’d skulk around Blaine’s house and watch to see if he did anything interesting. Much to my surprise, he did. I have him in sight now, and he’s heading west on I-64. He just passed the Chesterfield Mall exit. I’m thinking this is pretty suspicious, and I wondered if you might be able to get some law enforcement involvement through one of your former detective buddies at County. I figured you’d have a lot better chance of finagling some support than I would. So when you get this, will you call me back ASAP?”

  She pressed the end button and set the phone on the seat beside her. Hoping it would ring soon and she’d find Cal on the other end of the line.

  But if it didn’t, she’d stay the course.

  Because after all the effort they’d put into solving this case, she wasn’t about to let what could turn out to be the break they needed slip through her fingers.

  Even if that meant she had to hedge on her promise to Cal and take a few more risks than she’d planned.

  21

  Flexing his hands on the wheel, Ken at last let himself switch gears and think about the messy task ahead. He’d maintained excellent mental discipline over the past few days, putting aside his worry as he focused on his professional duties. There had been no more slips, no more shortchanging his patients. He’d mastered his anxiety, stayed the course, and done his job.

  His father would be pleased.

  But now it was time to focus on a different job.

  He flicked a glance in the rearview mirror as he approached the turnoff from Highway 94. With the curvy road, it was impossible to see very far back. To tell if he was being followed. Not that there was much chance of that. No matter what Moira Harrison had told the police to get them to do an autopsy on Verna, there was no solid evidence against him. And the police were stretched too thin to assign anyone to watch him round the clock based on mere speculation.

  Most of the traffic he’d encountered had been going the other way, anyway, back toward St. Louis. People who’d attended one of those weekend dinners on the deck at Montelle Winery, perhaps. After this was all over, maybe he’d invite Ted and Rose there one evening. They’d like that, and the man had been kind to him through the years. Some of his happiest hours had been spent sitting by the lake near Ted’s cabin.

  Unfortunately, the place could never again hold the same allure.

  It didn’t matter, though. He had no time for such indulgences anymore.

  As he prepared to turn onto the small side road that led to h
is destination, he took one final glance in the rearview mirror. There were some headlights in the distance, but too far away to cause much concern. Still, why take a chance?

  Slowing, he twisted off his lights and swung onto the road without applying his brakes or flipping on his turn signal.

  And at that very instant, as if God was smiling on his mission, one of the dark clouds that had been gathering all day drifted over the almost-full moon, blocking the light.

  If someone did happen to be following him, he’d just disappeared.

  Where had Blaine gone?

  Moira squinted into the darkness ahead, blacker than ever now that the moon’s glow had been snuffed out. His taillights had been there a moment ago. Now they’d vanished—kind of like the man himself had done on the rainy night she’d first encountered him . . . along with a nameless woman she’d since learned was Olivia Lange.

  Pressing harder on the accelerator, she kept her gaze fixed on the spot where she’d last seen him.

  People didn’t just disappear.

  He’d gone somewhere.

  And this time she intended to find out where.

  It was unfortunate she hadn’t asked Cal to be more specific about the location of the cabin Blaine’s neighbor owned. All he’d told her was that it was on a spur off the road where she’d caught Olivia in her headlights, a half mile closer to 94 than the accident site.

  Close to the area she was in right now.

  She slowed as she neared the spot where she thought Blaine had disappeared. To her left were farm fields. To her right were woods.

  Continuing to creep along on the deserted road, she swung her head from one side to the other. There was nowhere to go, nowhere to . . .

  Wait.

  She jammed on the brake.

  A narrow, two-lane ribbon of asphalt forked off on the right, like the one where she’d seen Olivia on that rainy night. Mendelson Road, according to the police report.

  She blinked at the weathered sign on the pole, trying to bring it into focus, but even with her glasses on it was impossible to read in the dark. If she took the time to get out and examine it up close, though, she’d lose Blaine—assuming he’d detoured here. And that was a safe assumption; as far as she could tell, there was nowhere else to turn close to this spot.

  So why had his taillights disappeared? The road wasn’t enveloped by trees for the first dozen yards.

  Unless . . .

  He must have switched off his lights, the same way Cal had done at Taco Bell, to avoid detection.

  Why?

  Did he suspect he was being followed?

  Had he learned about Verna Hafer’s autopsy?

  Was that why he’d come back to this spot?

  A solitary drop of rain splattered against her windshield as she put the car in reverse, turned off her own lights, and drove up the road. If only Cal had returned her call. He might have been able to get her some backup. A summons from her to the authorities, on the other hand, was unlikely to produce any quick results. She had nothing illegal to report, just suspicion. By the time she got to the right person and tried to convince him or her to help, Blaine could be finished with whatever task he’d come here to do.

  And there was no doubt in her mind he was here on a mission, not a weekend visit to the country to relax. Extinguishing his car lights was a dead giveaway.

  She cringed at the unintended—but perhaps accurate—pun.

  All at once, taillights flicked on in the distance, through the trees. As if they’d been flipped back on.

  Her guess had been correct. Blaine had turned here.

  Following more slowly in the dark, she watched as his brake lights flickered. Then the car swung to the right.

  She accelerated slightly, stopping at the one-lane gravel track where he’d turned. His taillights were still visible through the trees, but the foliage would obscure them within seconds.

  This had to be the spur that led to his neighbor’s cabin.

  Once more, Moira plucked her cell off the passenger seat and tapped in Cal’s number. She was certain he’d have returned her call if he’d gotten her first message, but it wouldn’t hurt to try once more. Worst case, she’d leave him an update.

  Three rings later, his voice mail kicked in again.

  Her stomach bottomed out, but she did her best to adopt a calm tone.

  “Cal, it’s Moira again. I followed Blaine, and my hunch was right. He headed straight for his neighbor’s place. I’m going to see if I can get a closer look at what he’s up to, because I doubt he came out here to commune with nature. I’ll stay undercover in the trees and call you back as soon as I have anything to report.”

  After slipping the phone into her pocket, she maneuvered the car as far off the road as she could, shoved her purse under the seat, and grabbed her binoculars. She couldn’t drive down the narrow lane. If she had to exit fast, there might not be anywhere to turn around.

  This job had to be done on foot.

  Lucky she’d worn rubber-soled flats today. And her black slacks and black knit top would help her blend into the darkness. It was as if she’d dressed for the part.

  But she’d have handed the role off to someone—anyone—else in a heartbeat.

  Not an option, unfortunately.

  As she slid out of the car—away from the safety of locks that could help protect her and wheels that could whisk her away—a wave of fear tightened her throat. After encountering her share of hairy situations and bad actors in her investigative work, she didn’t scare easily. But there was something especially spooky about this situation. Maybe it was the forsaken country road. Or the cloud-shrouded moon. Or the wind rustling through the dark woods.

  Whatever it was, a caution sign began to strobe in her brain, along with a warning.

  Back off. This is risky. Go home.

  Yet on the heels of that warning, an image of Olivia’s terrified eyes flashed through her mind. The woman who’d disappeared unnoticed on this very road. Who’d had no one to miss her. Whose silent plea that night, in the instant she’d been caught in the headlights, had gone straight to Moira’s heart.

  She had to do this for Olivia—because some instinct told her that whatever was happening tonight held the key to her disappearance . . . and might be their last chance to prove the link between a missing woman and a lauded doctor.

  Binoculars gripped in her fingers, pulse pounding, Moira started down the foliage-shrouded drive, hugging the edge, staying as close to the brushy woods as possible. All the while praying she wasn’t making a mistake that would jeopardize their investigation.

  Or her life.

  “We’re about to land. Buckle up.”

  At the prod to his shoulder, Cal pulled himself back from the edge of exhaustion and blinked across the aisle at Connor—who looked disgustingly alert.

  “What time is it?” His words came out half slurred.

  “10:45. You’ve been out cold for two hours.”

  He looked toward the front of the private plane, where their client was also wide awake and intent on his computer screen.

  Of course, William Santel had slept while he and Connor tag-teamed night duty then doubled up coverage during the day as the man maintained a grueling pace and ventured into places that kept both of them on high alert. Despite the local security backup, this job had definitely merited the full contingent of Phoenix PIs.

  Too bad Dev had been sidelined the first night.

  Fumbling with his belt, he checked out his other partner over his shoulder. His complexion was still pasty, and he hadn’t uttered a wisecrack in almost forty-eight hours. Funny. For all their concern about dodging bullets and dealing with drug traffickers, they’d never factored in the possibility one of them could be felled by a nasty case of Montezuma’s

  revenge.

  Go figure.

  “Feeling any better?”

  Dev made a face at him. “If I never see another Immodium tablet, it will be too soon.”

 
“Just be glad I had some on hand.” Connor tossed him a pack of saltine crackers. “Eat these. And keep drinking juice.”

  “Why were you so prepared, anyway?” Dev ripped the cellophane off the crackers.

  “Ask me sometime about my trip with the vice president to Kuwait.”

  “I thought all the stuff you handled was classified.”

  “Not diarrhea.”

  Stifling a grin, Cal watched out the window as the plane descended toward Spirit airport. He was looking forward to a soft bed, a cold drink—and perhaps an ice cream excursion with Moira tomorrow.

  He checked his watch. If a weather delay hadn’t pushed their departure back, he’d have called her tonight. Given the hour, though, there was a strong possibility she was already in bed—and late-night calls could be alarming. He’d had more than his share of those, and the adrenaline surge could keep you awake for hours.

  Better to wait until tomorrow and let her enjoy a peaceful night’s rest.

  The shovel did not give her a warm and fuzzy feeling.

  From the spot where she’d wedged herself between two cedar trees after encountering a faceful of cobwebs, Moira watched through the binoculars as Blaine removed the implement from the trunk of his car. He’d pulled back onto the property as far as possible, past the small cabin nestled among the trees, his black car blending into the night.

  He was also dressed in far more casual attire than he’d sported on the other occasions she’d encountered him—jeans, a long-sleeved shirt, a pair of heavy work gloves, sturdy boots. The kind of clothing people wore if they were planning to do serious physical labor.