by Kit Frazier
“Oh,” I said, as though it made perfect sense.
“What about you?” she said. “You make a booty call and get the wrong number?”
“I just need to talk,” I said, and my voice sounded tired and defeated in my own ears.
“Tell me,” she said, so I did.
I told her about the trip to the school, the icky DNA-covered magazines, the sheriff shooting cats, my encounter with Tres, and my suspicions that he was the guy who attacked me. While she didn’t say anything as I spoke, I could tell she didn’t approve of me going at this alone.
Dr. T sighed. “And now you think you’re going to go back and get her. Just like that.”
I sighed. “That’s the plan.”
“First,” she said, “how do you know she’s being held against her will?”
“I just know.”
“And what if she is there? What if you find her and she doesn’t want to be found?”
“That man has controlled her life since she was twelve years old. Of course she wants to be found.”
“Cauley, he could be grooming her. You see it a lot in child abuse cases. Get the kid emotionally and physically dependent on you, and they think they got nowhere else to go. It’s like raising and training a person to be yours to belong to you.”
I felt sick. “So you’re saying if she doesn’t want to leave, there’s nothing I can do?”
“Not if she’s eighteen and she’s not being held against her will.” “But what if she doesn’t know what her will is?”
“Uh-huh,” Dr. T said. “How long did it take you to leave your controlling ex-husband, Dr. Dick?”
I cringed. “That was a low blow.”
“But an accurate one,” she said, and I had to agree.
“So what you’re saying is it’s taken her a long, slow slide down to get where she is today, and it’s going to be a long trip back?”
“See? I always said you were a smart girl, no matter what anybody else said.”
“What am I going to do?”
She was quiet for a moment. “Well, all you can do is offer her some options. She got someplace to stay awhile?”
“She can stay with me. And Mama said she could stay there until she gets on her feet.”
“See? She’s got two options already she didn’t know she had. Give her my telephone number, tell her I’ll see her and help her get this thing straightened out. Regardless, if she is in there, you know you’re going to have to report it, right? And what about the bone?”
I shook my head. “You can take the girl out of the cop uniform, but you can’t take the cop out of the girl.”
“Huh. This girl’s too old for that kinda shit. I’ll make a call to the forensics lab tonight, tell them you’re coming in with a bone that needs to be identified. Maybe that’ll get you enough for a warrant.”
“Bones,” I said. “And that would be perfect.”
“And what about this Ethan character? He knows he can’t just charge in there on a white horse and rescue her, right? She’s going to have to rescue herself.”
The thought of E on a white horse made me laugh. “I’ll talk to him about it.”
“She’s going to have to believe in herself or she’s never going to get out of this cycle.”
“Thank you,” I said, and I felt the warm connection between us. She sighed. “You are your father’s daughter.”
“And you are still his friend.”
“I like to think I’m a friend to the both of you,” she said, and I smiled.
“Me, too.”
*
I didn’t sleep much that night.
I spent a lot of time out on the back porch looking at the stars, wondering where Logan was and if he was thinking of me.
I wondered what he’d do if he was here. Probably stop me from breaking into Tres’s property tomorrow night. Probably throw me down and make love to me until I couldn’t remember my own name.
Sleepy and unable to sleep, I settled on the sofa with the dog and the cat and flipped on Turner Classics.
Gilda was in rerun, and I watched Rita Hayworth as she gyrated on the screen and wondered what it would be like to have people so obsessed with you.
I wondered who wrote the script. A good girl acting like a bad girl, trapped in a cage of her own making, although she probably didn’t see it that way.
I watched as Gilda the nightclub singer warbled her heart out, all the pain and sorrow flowing out of her perfect mouth like a beautiful open wound.
I thought about Faith and her canary. And the tiny bones in my shoe.
I felt like vomiting again.
The phone rang, and I nearly jumped out of my underwear.
I looked out the window. The cop was still there. I answered the phone and found Ethan sounding forlorn.
“Are you awake?” he said. “Obviously.”
“That BlackBerry message? I tracked it to Boners. Came from their server.”
“You can’t tell who sent it?”
“It’s from a generic account, but I’m working on it.” “So it’s still not enough for a warrant,” I said.
Ethan sounded fidgety, ready to do something, but there was nothing we could do. “What are you doing now?” he said.
“Watching Gilda again,” I said, and told him the channel so we could watch it together.
“Hey,” I said. “I’m glad you called. We need to somehow get a message to Faith if we find her.”
“You really sure she’s there?”
“Marlowe is,” I said, and Ethan snorted.
“I thought you said Marlowe was the worst search dog ever.”
I frowned. “Until he has to find something.”
“You want to get a message to her?” Ethan said. “We aren’t going to just take her?”
“Not if she doesn’t want to go.”
He sighed. “What do you want the message to say?”
I gave him my address, my mother’s address, and Dr. T’s phone number. He was quiet.
“You still want to do this?” I said. “Yeah, you?”
“I’m ready as I’ll ever be,” I said. We were quiet.
“Ethan, I spoke with Dr. T tonight, and she said something you need to know. She said you can’t ride in there on a white horse and save Faith. She needs to do it herself.”
“I know that,” he said.
“Yes, but she also has a boyfriend and a career. She’s got a lot of choices to make and a lot of healing to do.”
He was quiet.
“What I’m saying is, she may not choose you.”
He sighed. It was a sad, resigned sigh, and he said, “I know. But I
want to give her that choice.”
I smiled. “You’re a good guy, you know that, E?”
“Everybody says so,” he said, but he sounded miserable. “I can’t sleep.”
“Me either.”
“Want to keep the phone by the bed?” he said, and I smiled.
“Yes,” I said. “I’ll sleep with the phone.
After a moment, he said, “Cauley do you think Faith’s okay?”
“I don’t know, Ethan. I hope so.”
We disconnected and true to my word, I put the phone on the arm of the sofa in case he called again. We were both nervous, and I wondered how Logan prepared for a day like tomorrow.
Probably dusted off his Captain America uniform. Probably ate bullets for dinner.
“Marlowe,” I said to the dog, who’d taken up more than his share of the sofa, “you did good tonight.”
His white eyebrows moved as he stretched out even farther and laid his head in my lap.
I kissed him on his head. “You know you’re going to have to stay here tomorrow, right?” I said.
I never know how much he understands, but Marlowe gave me the same look I give Tanner when he tells me I’m off a story.
Like hell I will.
Chapter Thirty-three
The sun rose hot the next day, and my nerves jangled
at every sound. I took the dog and the bones to the forensic lab and checked in, as Dr. T had suggested.
“Great,” I told Marlowe as we headed back to the parking garage toward the Jeep. “Now we only have eleven hours until I get myself killed.”
He looked at me. I thought it was sympathy, but it could have been hunger. Usually, it’s hunger.
Time trudged slowly, like I was walking under water. I thought I should be doing something to prepare. Like put bullets in the gun. Call my mother. Make out a will.
I chose the first and let the others slide.
It’s times like this I wish I had nifty crime-busting accessories. Like
Wonder Woman bracelets. Or super strength. Or Tom Logan.
I did a fair amount of pacing, checking and re-checking the gun Diego had given me. I counted the bullets again. The gift that keeps on giving.
All day, my body buzzed with a low-voltage shock.
I wondered if Logan and Cantu felt this way before they went on raids. I wondered if they ate their Wheaties and took a vitamin.
I didn’t have Wheaties so I took a vitamin that was probably past its expiration date. Despite my better judgment, I made myself a small bourbon and Diet Coke.
Ethan arrived early, jittering like hell, which made me even more jumpy. So I gave him a bourbon and Diet Coke, too. Sometimes being with E is like babysitting except the bourbon part.
Ethan wore black jeans and a black tee shirt that said Code Warrior on the front. It was a good look for him, and it was neatly accessorized with a big black bag full of stuff.
“What’s in the bag?”
He grinned. “I thought you’d never ask.”
He dumped the contents between us on the sofa. “Night vision goggles, a GPS locator, a BlackBerry…” “What’s this?” I said, palming a small box with a key card.
“Belongs to Gandalf. That’s what we’re using to get in. He says they’ve got the worst security system ever. It’s all set up on a separate security circuit. If we bypass the main circuit, all the locks open.”
“Ethan,” I said. “You are a genius.”
He blushed but went on. “This is the DVD of the music video I edited for her. These are some song sheets, and this…”
It was a page full of 0s and 1s. I grinned. “Is that my address and phone in binary code?”
He smiled modestly. “Yours, your mom’s, the shrink’s, and mine.” “That way if we get caught, we can leave it behind?” I said.
“Bingo. If Ainsworth can read binary code, we deserve to get caught. And I brought this,” he said, handing me a printout.
“What’s this?”
“Big Max was working on it all night. The BlackBerry message to Tiffany? It came from an alternate address from the Boners server.” “Oh, ick,” I said, looking at the handle: BigDaddyTres.
I blew out a breath and looked at the clock. Two more hours to go. We sat saying nothing, sipping our drinks, watching television, when the cat went to the jukebox and began yowling.
“All right, all right,” I said, and punched in the familiar set of numbers. The forty-five clicked and whirred as it hit the turntable, and soon, Aretha was wailing about R-E-S-P-E-C-T. I bet Aretha wouldn’t be afraid of busting into an armed structure.
“Are you going to tell anyone we’re doing this?” Ethan said, his foot jittering to the beat.
“I’m going to text Cantu right before we go in.” “Text him?”
“That way he can’t yell at me.” Ethan nodded and rubbed his eyes.
“You know,” he said. “Hanging around you is no picnic.”
I sighed. “Sadly, you’re not the first person to tell me that.”
The sun finally began to set and my heart began pounding. Probably
Morse code for Stop right here before you get carved limb from limb.
I turned to Ethan. “Go time,” I said, and he nodded.
He retrieved his box of geek stuff, and I got my gun and my purse.You know how to shoot that thing?” he said.
“Technically, yes.” “Practically?” “No.”
Ethan looked like he wanted to strangle me.
I got my keys and opened the front door, and Marlowe leapt out of the house, nearly knocking me down on the way to the Jeep.
“I thought we weren’t taking the dog.”
I glared at Marlowe. “I thought so, too.”
I shouldered my Team Six backpack filled with all the essentials fruit bars, water, Faith’s poetry books, the glob of pink sweater she’d been working on, and a gun. Nothing like being prepared.
I waved at the cop, and he nodded as Ethan and I pulled out of the drive.
We were quiet as Judgment Day as we made the long trip back to the ranch. Marlowe graciously shared the front seat with Ethan, while Ethan seemed to hold onto the dog for dear life.
I parked about a quarter mile away by the electrical box Ethan indicated. I got out and popped the hood. If anyone noticed, hopefully they’d think we had car trouble.
Ethan got out his bag and went to work on the box.
“Okay,” he said. “Done. Now we have to get to the phone box and disconnect the cameras.”
“Are you sure this is going to work?” I said, and he shrugged. “If it doesn’t, we gotta run like hell.”
“Well,” I said. “That’s comforting.”
He did his thing at the phone box, and we crept around the corner to the front gate.
“How do we know if it doesn’t work?” I said.
“An alarm will go off, and people will start shooting at us.”
I held my breath. Together, we took hold of the gate. Nothing happened.
“See? That’s a good sign,” he said. “No alarm.”
There may not have been an alarm, but the gates were heavy, and it took both of us to shove it back on its tracks. Luckily, we were all kind of smallish, so we didn’t have to push far.
“Wait,” I said. “I’m going to go ahead and text Cantu. I’m going to cc Olivia.”
“Now?”
“One or both of them will be here by the time we get to the studio and talk to Faith. If Tres and his mercenaries find us, we’ve already called the cavalry.”
I worked my thumbs over the keys and texted where we were, the location of the studio, and the time.
Ethan nodded, and we pushed the gate again. It gave a foot.
The minute the gate made a dog-sized opening, Marlowe shot through like a streak of silver lightning.
“Marlowe!” I hissed, but I was talking to the back of a big, fluffy white tail that disappeared into the thick, wooded area to the left of Tres’s house.
Marlowe made for the studio, and Ethan and I raced after him, careful not to twist an ankle or break a knee on the rocky terrain.
Marlowe beat us to the studio, where he was waiting behind the bulldozer, a smug look on his little puppy face.
“Show off,” Ethan said. He tried the door to the studio, but it didn’t give.
“Dammit!” he swore. “The only lock on the whole property not on the same circuit.”
“That’s good news,” I said. “That means she’s here.”
He nodded, and with newfound enthusiasm, plugged the small device into the lock and waited. Sixty seconds is a long time to wait when armed thugs might be barreling down on you, but it took that amount of time before we heard tumblers click into place.
I looked at Ethan, who looked back at me. “It could be on a different alarm system, too,” he said.
I closed my eyes. “We’ve come this far. Open it.”
Gritting my teeth, I turned the knob. Nothing happened. We let out a collective sigh of relief.
“We’ve only got about ten minutes before they know their security’s offline,” Ethan said.
My eyebrows shot up to my hairline. “You never said anything about a time limit.”
Ethan shrugged impatiently. “Details,” he muttered, and took off after Marlowe, who was doing his up-and-down search motion.
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The dog stopped at a grate in the wall and I stood beside him, staring.
“Marlowe,” I said, “are you sure?”
He turned three times and woofed.
“Nine minutes,” Ethan said, setting the alarm on his watch. Taking a deep breath, we removed the grate and found a long metal vent just big enough for a body.
I cringed.
“You don’t think she’s in there, do you?” Ethan said. But Marlowe dove into the ductwork, a dog on a mission.
I shook my head. “The dog does.”
Sighing, I shouldered my purse and shimmied into the duct after Marlowe, E grunting in behind.
It was dark. Ethan had the night vision goggles, but he was behind me, so all he got was a cartoonized, green view of my butt. Next time we’d have to think this through better.
I inched along, descending in the darkness, listening for Marlowe, who was already about five feet ahead of me. Suddenly, he yelped, and then I yelped, too. The duct came to an abrupt end, with a ladder propped at the rim of a huge hole in the duct. I missed the ladder and fell headfirst into a heap next to Marlowe, who stood staring at me.
“Ethan, wait,” I yelled and rolled onto my back. Pain shot up my spine, and it got worse when Ethan fell right on top of me.
I screamed and Ethan yelped, and in the darkness, a light shone about fifty feet away.
Ethan yelled, struggling to get the goggles off and out of the light. My heart stopped as my eyes adjusted to the light.
Faith stood in a roughly arched underground doorway, staring at us. Fear shone bright in her dark eyes.
“He told me you’d come,” she said, her voice detached and stiff, as though she’d forgotten how to speak. “He said you’d be here, and here you are.”
“Faith,” I said, but she shook her head violently.
I looked down and realized she was holding a gun.
Chapter Thirty-four
She held the gun on us with both hands, but her aim was shaky. To the right, I saw the big birdcage, the canary flittering around and around in circles, chirping and chittering madly. The door to the cage was open, but the bird didn’t seem to notice.
“Go,” she said. “Over there. On the couch.”
We did as she said, and I slipped my Team Six backpack off and set it on the sofa next to me. The room was small and all white, outfitted like an efficiency apartment, with a small adjoining kitchen, and a television with a DVD player and speakers set on a cart opposite the dubious-looking sofa we were sitting on. The room was underground, with no outside-facing windows, but a door with a formidable lock stood next to a long, rectangular mirror like the two-way mirrors you see in police stations.