Shades of Gray

by Rachel Ann Nunes

  A little more searching revealed a saucepan that would work to boil the water. Not that I intended to drink the tea 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?

  His eyes narrowed. “Not in there.”

  “Obviously.” I withdrew my hand and shut it with my hip. He jerked slightly as it slammed a little too hard. “Sorry,” I muttered.

  “In there.”

  I retrieved a spoon from the drawer he’d indicated, glad that it held no imprints. Fortunately, no one ever cared much about spoons. I hoped he’d leave, but he pushed a shiny silver container of sugar toward me, leaned against the counter, and folded his arms.

  Great. How was I going to get into that drawer with him staring at me? I thought I’d seen keys in there, which were bound to hold imprints. I had the feeling his car wouldn’t be the ordinary kind. Probably something worth more than I made in ten years and that garnered a lot of attention from attractive professional women.

  “So,” I said, pouring the water into the mug I’d found previously and adding a tea bag. “How was it you landed a big client like Nicholas Russo? Weird, isn’t it, that Dennis turned out to be Russo’s cousin?”

  “Cousin?” But there was no real surprise in his voice or his lean face. Ian had known, perhaps all along, despite what he’d told the police earlier about his ignorance of a connection between Russo and Dennis. However, a lot had transpired today, and exactly when he had gained this knowledge was still open for debate.

  “Didn’t you hear? Apparently, Dennis disappeared after witnessing his brother’s murder, and his family thought he was dead. They want him back, of course.”

  “What family wouldn’t? I’m sure he’s happy to be in contact with them again.”

  “Not really.” I left my gaze on Ian as I stirred my herb tea, but if I expected him to shift uncomfortably or visibly reveal his guilt, I was out of luck. “If you’re as good a lawyer as I think you are,” I added, “you probably know why.”

  “Our firm has no awareness of any underhanded dealings, if that’s what you’re implying.” The arrogance in his confident tone made me want to scream.

  I reached over and opened the junk drawer again. “You don’t have any paper in here, do you? I’m wondering if you can give me Russo’s phone number. There’s something I need to discuss with him.”

  “Give me your cell number, and I’ll send it to you.”

  “Uh, my cell phone isn’t charged and I’ll need to call him before I’ll get a chance to plug it in.” I spied keys in the drawer, and my hands tingled in anticipation.

  “Here’s the number.” Ian shoved a card from his wallet at me, but I dropped my hand anyway, letting them close around the keys.

  “What a cool key,” I gushed. “What kind of car do you drive?” Not that the key was anything but ordinary.

  Irritation crossed Ian’s face. “A Lexus convertible. Nothing special.” He took them from my hands, and I let them go because all I felt on it was pride and a little bit of lust, both more than a few weeks old. I didn’t want to experience those kinds of emotions, especially not his.

  “Oh, do you have a garage here?” Inside the drawer I spied a key card like the ones hotels use for their rooms. This one had GARAGE written at the top in large block letters.

  “No, that’s from work.”

  Sure enough, down at the bottom of the key card in tiny letters were the words Simeon, Gideon & Associates. I reached for it.

  He stopped me by shutting the drawer. “We should go back to Tracy. She’ll be wondering where we are. Too bad I have to leave in a bit. I really wish I had more time.”

  “I’m sure Tracy does, too. I know she was looking forward to seeing you.” How could I get him to fess up? Maybe if I followed him to wherever he was going, he’d lead me to Jake, though with my luck, he really would be heading to his office for work.

  “Come on.” He handed me the steaming mug and placed his hand on the small of my back. Though separated from him by a layer of fabric, my flesh crawled.

  I saw it then, what I’d been missing all along. Peeking out from the thick metal leg of a kitchen chair near the far wall was a tiny plastic soldier in a blue uniform.

  I moved quickly away from Ian, crossing the tiled floor and scooping up the toy, easily identifying it as an antique. And not just any antique but one whose rifle was no longer connected to one of the soldier’s hands—one of the two figurines I’d given Sawyer. A toy he often carried in his pocket.

  I stared at the soldier and then at Ian, a chill shuddering through me. I’d come here expecting to find a trace of Jake, but apparently Ian had other things to hide.

  Chapter 15

  What’s this?” I asked—or tried to. Because an imprint was coming fast. Strong hands grasping, Sawyer’s fear. A cry for his mother. A white man, one neither Sawyer nor I recognized. Struggling until something was pushed against his/my mouth and the world went dark.

  This imprint was followed by older, more pleasant ones. Satisfaction of playing with the toy, memories of the day I’d given it to him. “You sure you want that one?” I asked him in the imprint. “It’s broken. See?” But he liked the broken one because it was “funner to shoot,” though he would never really shoot anyone. It was all pretend. He also liked the lady with the funny eyes who didn’t wear shoes.

  When I could finally focus on Ian again, I found him staring at the toy in my hand. “One of my nephews must have left it,” he said.

  “It’s antique. Not many children have them or play with them if they do.” Was that a worry line on his forehead? My heartbeat increased.

  “What’s taking you guys so long?” Tracy asked, entering the kitchen. “Are you drying tea leaves or something?” Her false smile ended when she saw my face, and her hand moved closer to the weapon I knew she had hidden in a holster at her back. “What is it, Autumn?”

  Anger boiled inside me. “This is Sawyer’s.” I held up the soldier. The imprints were replaying, and I was barely able to talk. Hurriedly, I slipped it into the pocket of my jeans next to my useless cell phone.

  “You mean Dennis’s son?” Ian snorted. “I don’t think so. He’s never been here. Could have come from my cleaning lady’s child, for all I know.”

  Ignoring him, Tracy looked at me. “You sure?”

  “He left an imprint.”

  “Where’s the boy?” Tracy demanded of Ian, her face hardening. “Where did you take him?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about. What would I want with Dennis’s son?”

  “Did you do it for Russo?” I sneered. “That’s how he’s going to force Dennis to return to his so-called family, you know. By threatening to take his son.”

  “I’m not involved in any such plan. I’d never do anything to hurt a child.”

  I took a step toward him. “I suppose you don’t know where Jake is, either. Or know anything about a van and an Asian man jumping him on the street.”

  That brought a reaction, but not the one I’d intended. In a single motion, he dived toward the table, grabbed the mug of tea where I’d set it, and flung the contents at Tra
cy. She drew her weapon just as smoothly, though the pain of the hot tea must have stung. But Ian was already hurtling toward her, producing his own pistol. One of the guns went off as his collision with Tracy toppled them both, the bullet going wide and ricocheting off the fridge. Tracy’s gun skidded over the floor, the noise loud in the sudden silence.

  Tracy lay on the tile, unmoving, though I could see her chest rising and falling. Ian pointed his gun at her, his movements less certain now, as though he wasn’t comfortable with firearms. Neither was I.

  Concentrating, I kicked at his hand, sending his gun flying. Now we were even. Well, as even as I could get with a man who was so much taller and probably a lot stronger, despite his leanness. Ian recovered and came after me. He didn’t move with the skill of the well-trained, but he’d had at least some boxing experience somewhere along the line. I was more agile than he expected, easily avoiding those first punches and countering them with my own. His reach was longer, which cut down my effectiveness because I had to throw and get out of reach before he clobbered me. Fortunately, my legs were longer than his arms, and he didn’t seem to know how to use his own legs to hit me, so that evened the score a bit further.

  The air in the kitchen grew stifling and heavy as I worried about Tracy. Had the bullet hit her when it ricocheted, or had she banged her head on the tile when Ian attacked? More than anything I wanted to see if she was okay.

  Ian sent a punch that took me off guard, slamming into my torso below my right breast—fortunately not the side of my healing ribs, though from the impact he might have broken a few new ones.

  He grinned, his thin face wolflike. “You should have listened when I tried to warn you off this morning.”

  “You sent that thug after me at the gas station near Russo’s restaurant?” I circled him warily, planning my next attack. Foot to his knee and then to his groin, followed by two jabs and an all-out punch to his head. It might work if I could place the first kick exactly right. Too bad I didn’t have my keys. Last I remembered seeing them was at Sophie’s when Sawyer was taken.

  Ian shrugged. “I talked to Tracy on her way to her parents’ house. She told me you were going to see Russo. I was simply protecting my client.”

  “Your client or yourself? How many properties are you going to be able to sell to the shopping center developers?”

  “What do you know about that?”

  “Enough to go to the newspapers. What I want to know is how Russo really became your client. No way that was coincidence.”

  He laughed. “No. It was brilliance. I discovered Dennis’s past during the background search I conduct on all new employees. I’m a master at backgrounds, you see.” Ian’s voice was so casual we could have been sitting in his office with a desk between us instead of circling the kitchen looking for an opportunity to strike. “Wouldn’t you like to know who your father was—your real father, that is? And your grandparents? I could find them all.”

  “Like you found Dennis’s family? How much did they pay you?” I grimaced in disgust.

  “I find it much better to seek a long-term relationship with a legitimate client than to collect a prize. A bit of lucrative business thrown my way is nothing to them, and it means everything in the eyes of my firm’s partners—particularly my aunt.”

  “So instead of getting a payment to betray Dennis, you got his family’s business.”

  He grinned. “And a raise. I was hoping for partnership, but my aunt keeps putting me off.”

  “How could you sell Dennis out that way?” Ian was backing toward the block of kitchen knives, so I rushed him, landing a successful roundhouse on his thigh and compelling him back toward the table.

  “He was involved in the murder of Joben Saito’s son. He could have been the trigger man, for all I know.”

  That reverberated close to the truth Dennis had confessed to me at the hospital. If Ian was that good, maybe he could trace my birth mother’s family and discover who my biological father was. The need to know always burned inside me, though mostly as a tiny flame that grew smaller when I was with my sister, her presence having a satiating effect on my curiosity.

  “Whatever you’re into,” I said to Ian, “it’s over now. You injured, maybe even killed, a police officer. It’ll go easier on you if you stop this insanity and call an ambulance.”

  Ian hesitated, appearing to think about what I’d said. He shook his head, like Tawnia’s new dog throwing off water when we swam in the ocean. “You’re right. I’ve gone too far.”

  I could see the danger of that line of thought. “You still have your aunt’s law firm. I’m sure they’ll back you, won’t they? They’ll help you fix things.”

  “Yeah, right.” His face twisted in an ugly grimace. “Even if things went back to the way they were, when my aunt finally does kick the bucket, her share of the firm will go to that snot-nosed baby cousin of mine, who isn’t even out of law school. My career means nothing to her. I realized that a long time ago.”

  It occurred to me that Ian was in a situation similar to the one Russo had been in with Dennis, except Dennis had disappeared, effectively turning over the reins to his cousin. Did Russo really plan to return Dennis to the family, or were his plans far darker?

  “You could start your own law firm,” I said. “If you tell them where Sawyer is, they’ll go easy on you. And Jake. Is he still with the Asian?”

  “You should have listened to my warning. Both you and your hoodlum boyfriend should have stayed out of it.”

  That did it. Jake had dreads, but he wasn’t a hoodlum. He was a hard worker, he attended church every Sunday, and he was kind to everyone. Most important, he was my friend.

  I faked a roundhouse, and Ian turned to block, exposing his knee. It was all I could wish for. Knee, groin, face. Only my last, knock-out punch was off, though Ian tripped and hit his head on the table.

  “Where is Jake!” I yelled.

  I hadn’t noticed that he’d fallen next to Tracy’s gun. Grabbing it, he let off a volley of shots as I dived toward his gun that lay to the right of the table. Another shot slammed into the wall above my head. Lucky for me he had terrible aim.

  My luck didn’t hold. In the next instant, hot, slicing pain skidded over my right calf, seeming never to stop. White flashes of agony obscured my vision. I forced myself to roll over and face him. I had hold of his gun now, but before I could do anything with it, Ian shot again. The empty click sounded almost as loud as the bullets had in the silent kitchen. He threw the gun down and disappeared through the door.

  He hadn’t needed to flee. Already I was immobilized by the imprints in his gun. Fear, exultation, and greed filled my head. “I’ll let you go,” he/I was saying to Jake, who lay on brown carpet, tied and bloodied, as though he’d fought to get free. “Once everything is taken care of, you won’t remember a thing. I can’t have you going public with this. I have too much to lose.” In Ian’s mind I saw just how much—yes, he’d been working for Russo, but he had far more properties for himself on the side. He would be set for several lifetimes.

  More than a motive for kidnapping.

  “I’ll go public,” Jake growled.

  Ian/I laughed. “After the doctor’s visit, you’ll be lucky if you remember your own name.” He/I motioned, and the Asian man I recognized from the imprint on Jake’s phone tied a cloth over Jake’s mouth. The last imprint was of a window and a tall building standing out among its neighbors.

  I shook my hand free of the gun.

  I’d seen that building before, though at a slightly different angle. But where? I struggled to remember. Then I had it: the pen Kolonda had kept from her visit with the contractor. She’d been showing him the caved-in ceiling at one of her buildings, so that meant Jake had to be somewhere nearby.

  Gathering my strength, I crawled to Tracy’s side, my wound sending shards of agony u
p my leg. The pain seemed everywhere, though it was worst in my calf. I knew I should look at it, but I had to take care of Tracy first. She was breathing but unconscious. I could see no blood. I reached for her phone, at the last minute grabbing it with the end of my shirt. I couldn’t risk any more imprints for the moment. I needed my wits about me.

  I pushed the number with the tip of a fingernail that was slightly longer than the others. “What is it?” growled a voice.

  “Shannon, it’s Autumn.”

  “Why are you using Tracy’s phone?”

  “Because she’s unconscious. We need an ambulance at Ian Gideon’s apartment right away. They know the address at the precinct. It’s on this phone, but I don’t know how to—”

  “Is she okay?” His clipped tone told me I was running off at the mouth again. Not my fault I was losing it.

  “I don’t know. But Ian has Jake, and he knows where Sawyer is. Maybe Ian grabbed Sawyer for Russo.” That didn’t feel exactly right, though. Not because Russo had seemed genuinely upset about Sawyer’s disappearance but because I’d started to wonder why Russo would take Sawyer before the search for Dennis was concluded. Dennis had been easy enough to trace, and the fear of what Russo might do to their son should keep both Dennis and Sophie in line without his actually taking the boy. He could always kidnap the child later if Dennis tried to talk to the police or go into hiding again, a thing Russo seemed positive he wouldn’t do. Russo didn’t strike me as someone who put himself to useless tasks.

  “I’m on my way,” Shannon’s voice cut through my tumult of thoughts. “The ambulance will be there first. You stay put.”

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “I need to find Jake.”

  “Autumn, stay there. I’ll help you find him.” His voice held a note of pleading that at any other time would have had me mocking him.