The Stolen Girl

by Linsey Lanier

  “Good to see you, Tony,” said Bruno with a raspy voice at the table as a fifth man joined them.

  From the corner of her eye Miranda saw the newcomer was a good-looking young man with brown hair. He was elegantly dressed in a pinstriped suit complete with a vest and a gold pocket watch. A bit of overkill, she thought. He was Anthony Singer, Thunderclap’s VP and General Counsel. According to Sloan’s information, this guy was the decision maker.

  Singer shook hands with Bruno, holding his cell in the other.

  Savko extended a large burly hand. “Hey man, how are you doing?” He had a Ukrainian accent, but sounded like he’d been in the states a good while.

  “Good.”

  “It’s great to see you. Sit, sit.”

  Singer complied.

  “This octopus is something else, isn’t it? Have some.” Savko chuckled as he passed the plate around.

  While their targets munched on appetizers, and the talk turned to the weather, winter vacations, and their kids, a waitress came to Miranda’s table. Since they were blending in, she and Parker were obliged to order something.

  Besides, they hadn’t had breakfast.

  While Hall and Bruno talked about her grandchildren’s performances in school, she and Parker started off with garlic bread and an eggplant dip that was really good.

  The main course came while Koval was describing his family’s vacation trip to Palm Beach.

  Parker had selected the Ahi Tuna with zucchini and cranberry beans. For her, he had decided on Sea Bream Tacos with pineapple, blue corn, and extra serrano chilies. But while it was an excellent five-star dish, and even on the spicy side, she couldn’t enjoy it while she was eavesdropping.

  The waitress visited the executives’ table and cleared dishes away. They ordered coffee and dessert.

  Savko’s accent echoed in her ear. “So, Tony. Really, how have you been? All going well at the studio?”

  “Very well,” Tony replied, a note of caution in his tone. “Box office receipts are up, production is up, too.”

  “Great, wonderful.” Savko chuckled and pointed a big finger at him. “But I’ll bet costs are up, too.”

  Tony smiled uncomfortably. “We’re making a decent profit.”

  “Good, good. But let us get down to the shiny tacks. Bruno here has a copy of the proposal I emailed you.”

  “Yes, I read it over last night.

  “I’m sure you can see it’s a very generous offer.”

  “It certainly is.”

  Savko took out a map and spread it on the table. “As you can see, all we want is a small portion of your back lot.”

  Hall let out a tiny laugh. Derision in her voice, she said, “I wouldn’t call it small. You want all five acres. What do you plan to do with it?”

  “Develop it,” Savko said as if that were an answer. “It’s prime real estate. And we’re offering you a portion of the rental revenue. C’mon, admit it. A commercial site will make more money for you than what you’re using it for now.”

  “We’re using it to make major feature films,” Koval said with indignation.

  “Which tend to tank at the box office.”

  Koval scoffed. “We do well enough. We’ve got some features in production we think will be blockbusters.”

  “Speculation. You know what they say about the bird in the shrub. Just look these plans over again. Think about it.”

  “I will, I will.”

  Hmm. A little too much pressure, but no talk of muscling, or threat. No mention of drugs, or anything illegal. A little tension, but overall just a normal business lunch. As Miranda had feared, it was nothing. Just a deal over some real estate.

  These top-dog executives didn’t even know the lowlife carpenter nicknamed Draco even existed.

  And they certainly knew nothing about a little girl who’d been kidnapped.

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  “That was a bust,” Miranda said as she stepped onto the sidewalk in front of the hotel.

  “A decided waste of time.” Beside her, Parker looked angry but he was holding it in.

  That morning, she had left Holloway and Becker at the hotel hovering over Becker’s laptop and Holloway’s tablet, trying to dig up anything they could on Douglas Vaughn, aka Draco. Any former contact, employer records, DMV info, anything.

  Like Axel, there hadn’t been much in the files on the guy after their time in Los Angeles County Jail. They’d probably escalated their gang involvement after that, bought protection and hid their identities. There was little hope of finding something obvious like an address, but they had to try.

  Wesson was back at Olivia’s, trying to keep her calm. The poor woman had hardly slept. She’d spent the whole night crying and was completely frazzled.

  Miranda was about to say they should pick up the guys and go back to Olivia’s, when a gleaming black stretch limo pulled up to the curb in front of them.

  It came to a halt and the back door opened. Inside sat Sloan, dressed in his dark suit.

  “Get in,” he said.

  Miranda narrowed her eyes, but she felt Parker’s hand on her arm. He was right. They couldn’t make a scene here.

  Gritting her teeth, she climbed into the limo’s backseat.

  Scooting over the plush leather, she took in the flat screen TV, the DVD player and stereo, the stainless steel wet bar stocked with drinks. She could smell coffee brewing there. So much for kicking the caffeine habit.

  “Your expense account is growing, Sloan.” There was room in here for ten.

  “This case is growing.”

  “But a limo? Isn’t this a little conspicuous for you?”

  Sloan smirked. “Out here, it’s hiding in plain sight. Never mind the transportation. How did it go up there? What did you learn?”

  Parker fixed Sloan with a firm gaze. “That Thunderclap has a prime piece of real estate Savko would like to get his hands on.”

  Sloan wrinkled his nose. “For what?”

  “To develop,” Miranda said, handing Sloan back his bionic hearing device. “For income.”

  “Income from criminal enterprises, right?”

  Parker shook his head. “Not that we could tell.”

  “Savko offered the execs a good price for the land plus a percentage of the rental revenue,” Miranda told him. “It all sounded above board to me. And a little boring.”

  Not that they’d discuss illegal activity in a place like the Hudson House. On the other hand, the Thunderclap executives might have no knowledge of what Savko wanted the property for. And neither did she.

  Sloan sat back, looking defeated.

  Miranda peered out the window. They were cruising along Sunset, heading into Beverly Hills. “Where are we going?”

  “I want to talk to that woman you told us about last night.”

  Miranda glared at him. “Which woman?”

  “Marie Applegate.”

  Her spine stiffened. “Didn’t we agree you wouldn’t do that? We’ve fulfilled our part of the bargain.”

  “We can’t manufacture evidence, Sloan,” Parker added.

  Sloan leaned forward. “Which is why we need to talk to Applegate. We have a man tailing her now. She’s at the dental office where she works.”

  “You can’t do that,” Miranda repeated. Everything was spinning out of control.

  Sloan looked at her like she was crazy. “Marie Applegate is involved with your kidnapper. You followed him to her house the other night. Don’t you want to know what she has to say about him?”

  Miranda fisted a hand against the leather seat. Of course, she did. But it was too risky.

  “Among other things, she can probably tell us where this Draco lives. Your missing little girl could be there.”

  He had a point. And what else could they do? Draco’s records were so clean, even the FBI couldn’t find him. Finding out where he lived from Marie was a chance that wouldn’t come again.

  “What happens when you let her go?”

&nb
sp; Sloan shrugged. “Even if she tells Draco we picked her up, we can get to his place before he can do anything about it.”

  If she gave them the right address. “Are you sure?”

  “I’ll make sure.”

  As sure as he’d been about that meeting? But all Miranda could think of was rescuing that poor little girl before she was sold into slavery. If they still could.

  She turned to Parker. He’d been staring out the window, his jaw tight. She didn’t need to ask to know he didn’t think this was a good idea.

  But she didn’t know what else to do. It was their only idea.

  “Okay, Sloan. But if anything goes wrong—”

  “It won’t. I’ll make sure of that.”

  Sloan rapped twice on the window, and the limo made a turn and headed for the 405 and Culver City.

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Douglas Vaughn, who preferred to be called by his nickname Draco, rode his black-and-gold XL Sportster down Santa Monica Boulevard toward downtown LA.

  He hated the traffic and the smog, though the city air wasn’t so bad this time of year. Still, he longed for the ocean breeze on the Pacific Coast Highway or the twisty roads through the mountains above Pasadena. Maybe someday he’d be rich enough to get a nice place in Malibu and ride whenever he wanted.

  This job might just be the thing to tip those scales.

  He turned into the parking garage next to the Plaza Building in Bunker Hill and rode up a level. He chained up his bike, entered the building through a side door, and stepped into the upscale lobby. He ignored the gleaming stainless steel trim and the echoing footsteps of the business people as he crossed the blue marble floor to the elevator.

  The office workers. Lawyers, accountants, Indian chiefs. The well-to-do non-stars that sucked off the tits of the movie industry. All moving with an air that said they were better than him. Ha. What did they know?

  They were nothing to him but cattle. And an occasional mark.

  In the elevator a well-dressed brunette gave him a disapproving look. His jeans and chains and leather didn’t meet with her approval, huh? He’d like to chain her to a bed and change her mind about what kind of man he was.

  He rode up to the sixty-first floor and stepped off into the spacious reception area of New Heights Holdings. Ignoring the cute blond at the reception desk, he used the special keycard he had to enter the top executive area and went straight to the office in the corner labeled “CEO.”

  He knocked, though he was expected, and waited for the deep voice to answer.

  “Uviydit.”

  Savko was speaking his native tongue today, Draco thought with a smirk as he entered the room and scanned the surroundings he was getting more used to seeing.

  The big office featured strange-looking modular furniture with a mosaic theme in muted brown and gold tones. In a style that was a mixture of Hollywood modern and Old European, it was as rich as the man who sat in the executive chair behind the desk—a fixture that seemed to take up a third of the room. Two large art-deco paintings hung on the wall behind him. One of James Dean, the other of Marilyn Monroe.

  He liked the Hollywood vibe out here.

  He was big and muscular and dressed in a pricier black leather jacket than himself. Draco had heard a rumor he’d been a boxer back in the Ukraine. Not one you wanted to tangle with. And in his current position, not one you wanted to cross.

  Savko looked up from the phone he’d been texting on and grinned. “Ah, right on time. Sit.” He gestured to a chair.

  With a nod Draco eased himself into a contoured guest chair and relished the cool atmosphere.

  He’d like to sit in an air conditioned office instead of pounding nails into boards and getting splinters in his fingers all day. After ten years, building flats for movie sets got old.

  “So, how’s it going with you?” The big man said in the deep-throated accent that reminded Draco of a trendy vampire from Transylvania.

  “Good, good. How about you? How did you’re meeting go?”

  Savko pointed a thick finger at him. “I like that. Direct. You always get straight to the point.”

  Draco smiled and nodded cautiously. You had to be careful with Savko. Draco recalled hearing about a guy who crossed him once. Savko had strung him up and had disemboweled the guy himself with a meat hook.

  Suddenly Savko’s grin disappeared and a dark cloud came over the big man’s face. “The studio has rejected our offer for their back lot property.”

  Draco put on a scowl. “The assholes.”

  “They are lucky I did not have their cars blown up. But I like your idea better,” The smile returned.

  “We’ll make them an offer they can’t refuse.”

  Savko chuckled. “I love that line. Yes, yes. Two birds with one rock. Very clever. Very clever, indeed.”

  “It’s a chance to help them change their minds.”

  “And they will, if it goes as planned.”

  “It will.”

  Savko studied his phone a moment, then laid it on the desk. “The fifth one is here?”

  “He is. I followed him from the airport yesterday evening. He went straight to the mother’s apartment.”

  The huge man gave him a pleased grin, revealing a gold incisor with a diamond in it. “Excellent. And Crow? He is ready?”

  “He’s got everything assembled. Says he can pull it off whenever you give the word.”

  His dark eyes narrowed. “Crow knows it will be real this time?”

  “He does. He’s been in touch with your military contact for the supplies.”

  Savko rocked in his chair. “The bombing at the bank was a risky move.”

  “But it worked.” It had been Draco’s idea. He’d wanted to show he could take initiative.

  Slowly Savko nodded. He seemed pleased.

  Draco took a breath and got to the tricky part of the conversation. “One question.”

  “You’re allowed one,” Savko grinned.

  Draco forced a small laugh. “Afterward, if the kid survives, what do we do with her?”

  “You think she will survive?”

  He gave a casual shrug. “I’m covering all bases.”

  Savko sat back and steepled his hands. “We can sell her. She’s not the usual quality, but she’ll fetch a decent price.”

  “She might be damaged. Physically, I mean.”

  “We can get a doctor to patch her up. One of those who writes the prescriptions for our celebrity friends.”

  “She’s not groomed.”

  “I have a few clients who like to do their own grooming.” Savko grinned again, and this time there was a greedy sort of pleasure in it.

  They shared another chuckle over that one.

  “One more thing.”

  Savko stopped laughing. Draco knew he couldn’t push his luck, but he needed to ask this one. “Yes?”

  “The father’s getting antsy.”

  Savko’s thick black brow rose. “Is he a problem?”

  “He might be.”

  He sat back and thought a moment. “He’s been a good earner, but he hasn’t been pulling his weight lately. He may have to go. I’ll let you make the call on that.”

  That was all he needed to hear. If he acted up, Draco would take care of Axel himself.

  “Anything else?”

  “No, like I said, we’re all set.”

  The finger was wagging again. This time it was a threat. “This has to go as planned, Draco. It has to be all of them. Those are the orders.”

  Orders from somewhere high above Savko. “It will be,” he said with a gut-level confidence. He’d make sure of it. Just in case something went wrong, he’d be there to finish them off. None of them would leave alive.

  “I do not want to end up like my predecessor.”

  He was speaking of Iwasaki. The elder one.

  Draco sat back, met his boss’s gaze and dared to steeple his own hands. “Don’t worry, sir. There’s no chance of that.”

 
Chapter Forty

  Still in her little black dress, Miranda paced back and forth over the cheap speckled linoleum of the back room of a small brick building on Venice Boulevard.

  When Sloan’s limousine had taken her and Parker to this office in Culver City, she’d assumed it was another covert cover. An FBI outpost made to look like a safe company.

  She’d been right.

  She stopped and spun around. “Are you ready to answer my question now?”

  Marie Applegate sat on the other side of a long folding table dressed in her dental assistant scrubs, staring down at a cup of coffee.

  The blinds on the narrow windows behind her were drawn, giving the room a sinister feel. Her short blond hair was combed back flat against her head. Her skin was pale. Her brown eyes were large and filled with apprehension.

  Sloan’s man had picked her up at her workplace about an hour ago when she went to lunch. The dental office off the San Diego Freeway where Marie had been an assistant for the past three years had turned out to be only a few miles from the house they’d tailed Draco to the other night.

  The safe company was only about a mile from there.

  Marie pushed a strand of hair behind her ear. “I already told you, Ms. Steele. I don’t know anything. I don’t know what you want from me.”

  Miranda didn’t buy it.

  And she knew exactly what she wanted from this woman. But she also wanted enough evidence for a conviction. For several convictions.

  She glanced over at Parker who was in his expensive suit from this morning. He was leaning casually against a tall safe in the corner, as if he weren’t interested in the proceedings at all. At the far end of the table, Sloan leaned back in a creaky chair, obviously itching for a crack at the woman.

  Parker gave his head an imperceptible shake. He didn’t believe what the woman was saying, either.

  Miranda strolled over to the middle of the table and planted her rear-end on it. “How long have you been with him?”

  “With Draco?” Marie lifted a shoulder. “We’ve had an on-again-off-again thing for about five years now.”