“No, of course not,” she gasped. “Why would you even say such a thing?”
“Statistically speaking, the vast majority of abductions are committed by a family member,” Harper said, before Cam could step in.
“But wouldn’t those be in cases where there was a custody issue? Like separation or divorce?” Emma asked. Cam couldn’t help but be impressed by the knowledge that went along with the query. This woman was sharp, regardless of her meek demeanor.
“You’d be surprised,” Harper muttered. Cam managed to catch her eye, hushing her at least for the moment.
“We just need to assess every angle here,” Cam said, doing what she could to soothe things over. “The most important thing is to get your baby back, and sometimes that means asking questions that aren’t very polite.” She said the last while staring hard at her partner. Harper at least had the decency to look embarrassed. A bit.
“I guess I can understand that,” Emma said. She glanced at her fingers again. “My husband… He doesn’t want to get the police involved.”
Once more, Cam was floored. “You mean you haven’t called the police?” she asked after a stunned silence.
Emma shook her head, and tears began to flow anew. “He… My husband’s a good… I just couldn’t sit by and…” She sat upright, piercing Cam with her sudden gaze. “Please. Find my baby. Do whatever you have to do.”
* * *
“Totally the husband,” Harper said as they exited the house. That place had given her the creeps. Way too goody-goody for her taste. As far as she was concerned, when people went to the lengths that family did to show how good they were, they were hiding something in there.
Cam sighed. “You don’t know it was the husband.”
It was an ages-old argument between them. Harper always looked at the husband first. She couldn’t help it. She knew it. Cam knew it.
Thing was, Harper had also been right more often than she’d been wrong.
“C’mon, Cam. Even you have to admit there was something freaky back there. What husband doesn’t want the cops getting involved when his baby’s been snatched?”
Cam made a face. “Yeah. That’s weird.”
“Right?” Harper turned to head for her car. “So, I should go see what I can dig up on the guy, yeah?”
“Hold on there, Speedy,” her partner grunted. “First we have to contact the police.”
“You heard her. The husband’ll go ape. Which again…”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah. I know. Makes him suspicious.” Cam pursed her lips. Her juicy, pouty lips. Sometimes Harper wondered if she hung out with Cam just to make herself feel less attractive. Cam continued, “She told me to do anything we had to do in order to find her baby. And I did warn her that we were going to alert the police. So…”
“Look, how ‘bout this? I’ll go suss out the dad. Why don’t you go by the police station? They like you better than me, anyway.”
“That’s not totally…”
“Oh, come on,” Harper said, rolling her eyes. “Your ex was a cop. They respect you.”
“They think I pushed him to drink. And then abandoned him.”
Harper made a raspberry with her lips. “Po-ta-to, po-tah-to. They know you.”
Cam waved her off. “Fine, fine. Just… be a little more…” She trailed off, waving her hands about in a vague gesture.
“Pushy?” Harper prompted, eliciting a sharp look from her partner. “Kidding. Kidding. I’ll be good. Promise.”
Cam shook her head and headed across the street to her minivan. Harper took a minute to make sure the car started before she headed to her Honda. More than once Cam had ended up stranded because her ancient Chevy wouldn’t start.
Harper felt her pulse accelerate as she turned the key in the ignition. Time to dig into the affairs of Mr. Jarom Young.
She had a feeling she was going to find a lot more than Jarom wanted her to.
* * *
The San Diego Police Department was housed in a modern-looking box with loads of glass that the designer had probably thought appeared sleek. To Cam it just looked like a prison with lots of windows.
The receptionist recognized her, both from her experience working with the SDPD as well as from before, when she’d just been Officer Holden’s wife. So it wasn’t long before Cam was sitting in front of a woman with cheekbones that seemed like they could cut through steel and a sharp slash of a mouth.
Detective Laura Stickler had brown hair that was pulled into a severe bun at the nape of her neck. In another setting, she probably would have been attractive, but with the severe way in which she was dressed and that hairstyle, it was pretty evident that she had no desire to be thought of as the pretty cop.
“Dolores said you had something to report?” she asked, raising an eyebrow. The effect was one of disdain, and Cam got the feeling that she wasn’t exactly welcome.
“There’s been a kidnapping. A male infant, four months of age, taken at some point during the night.” Cam sketched in the details of the abduction succinctly including the family’s name and address, doing what she could to be helpful without wasting time.
After several moments of jotting down information, Stickler paused and put away her notes. She crossed her arms over her breasts and faced off with Cam.
“So, I’ve got the salient points of the case. Want to tell me why the hell you’re the one giving them to me?”
“I was contacted by the mother. Her husband doesn’t seem to like the government much.”
“Great,” the detective muttered. “So now I get to be saddled with an amateur crime-solver.”
“Excuse me?” Cam said, trying to keep her face from betraying her irritation.
“I’m fairly certain you heard me. I wasn’t whispering.”
Cam shifted in her seat. “I’m not an… Look, my husband used to be an officer here.”
“I know who you are,” Stickler responded, her tone direct. “And I knew your ex-husband. He was a good cop.”
“Well then, I--”
“He was a good cop,” she reiterated. “You? You were just his wife. Which still makes you an amateur in my book.”
Cam felt herself bristle at both the insult and the tone in which it was given. But rather than rise to the bait, she took a deep breath, forcing herself to relax.
“I can understand your reservations,” she responded, keeping her tone even. “You don’t know me. You have no idea how I operate.”
“That’s not true, strictly speaking,” Stickler said. “I saw what happened with Holdon. He tanked; you bailed. That tells me all I need to know.”
This time it took longer to calm down. Several deep, cleansing breaths. Then a couple more for good measure.
“I’m not here to talk about my ex-husband,” Cam finally said. “There’s a family in need right now, and no matter what your issues with me may be, you’re going to need my help.”
Stickler stared at her through lidded eyes for another long moment, then turned away. “Tell you what. I’ll take my chances.”
There was another long pause in which it became clear that the conversation was done. Detective Stickler made a point of glancing up at a digital clock on the wall that read 1:13 pm.
“Don’t you have somewhere to be?” she asked.
“Ah…” Cam said. She had no ready response to that question.
“Your kids. You do have kids, right? Three little girls? Holdon was always bragging about them.”
What Stickler insulting her detective skills couldn’t do, her questioning of Cam’s mothering did in an instant. Cam’s back stiffened, and she heard herself speak through teeth clenched firmly together.
“I don’t know that it’s any of your business, but my girls don’t get out until 2:45.”
The detective gave her an unpleasant smirk. “Maybe it’s none of my business, and maybe they get out at 2:45. Most of the time. But isn’t it an early-out day?”
Cam’s heart sank. She had no idea how St
ickler knew, but she was absolutely right. The girls were getting out of school today at 1:30. Just a little more than fifteen minutes from now.
Dammit.
* * *
Harper was bored.
Bored, bored, bored, bored, bored.
That wasn’t a good thing when there was a countdown happening. But whether or not this stakeout was as exciting as watching paint dry, Harper knew in her gut that it was going to pan out.
Emma had told them that her husband was a drillings operation director for the Brown Mountain quarry out in Bonsall, which explained Emma’s early morning call to Cam. She’d called as soon as he walked out the door.
Drillings operation director. From what Harper knew, those guys made bank. Like, way more than enough to turn that outdated home of theirs into a million dollar flip. Hell, who was she kidding? It was San Diego. At least a million.
So what was with the ramshackle furniture? Harper had taken a gander at what looked like the family car parked in the driveway before they had left. It wasn’t much newer than Cam’s. Or much nicer.
Now it was possible that they were just frugal. Socked their money away, stuff like that. It could even be that they gave it all away to whatever Christian ministry they were into. Who knew what those religious weirdoes were capable of?
But Harper didn’t think so. There was something freaky here. No one made that much money and didn’t spend at least some of it on themselves.
Well, not anyone Harper knew personally. And when it came down to it, you went with what you knew. And Harper knew weird. She knew freaky. She’d been through it all herself.
There was something off about the husband.
Like the fact that he had gone in to work. Who did that when their kid was abducted? Someone who had something to hide, that’s who.
And yet…
She’d been here all day, waiting for Jarom to surface. And she’d seen him, more than once.
Doing his job, from what she could tell.
Boring.
A group of men and women strolled out of the gate, headed toward their cars. Looked like a shift was ending. And sure enough, Jarom was there in the group. He got into an old Jetta and pulled out of his parking space.
Game time.
Harper let a couple of cars get between herself and the blue Jetta. She’d watched enough detective shows to know all the tricks. Cam hated the idea that the Empty Crib Organization would ever be thought of as some sort of private investigator firm, so Harper never told her. And Cam was good enough not to ask where the information came from. Most of the time.
People thought this kind of stuff was thrilling, blood-pumping kind of action. They had no idea. Most of it was mind numbing. Like this drive, for instance. All she had to do was keep the Jetta in sight. Might as well be following someone to their favorite lunch joint.
But when Jarom took the Pomerado Road/Miramar exit instead of continuing on to the 163 that would take him home, Harper had to swerve over three lanes to make the exit. It was a good thing she’d allowed for some space between them, or she never would have made it.
Jarom wasn’t going home.
He took several turns soon after coming off the freeway. He was a sensible driver with not a whole lot of flair, going five miles an hour over the speed limit. Not enough to attract notice, but enough that it probably made him feel like he was getting to his destination faster. Harper knew the type. Her ex had been the same way.
It wasn’t long before they were entering into an area of Scripps Ranch that was all apartment complexes and track homes. The possibility that this was just a side errand he was taking before heading home was diminishing by the moment.
Harper kept him in her sights, staying back far enough that it wouldn’t cause suspicion, but close enough that she didn’t lose him. She had no desire to either spook him or lose track of him at this point. Her suspicions were turning out to be correct.
He was so busted.
* * *
With some quick maneuvering and the breaking of a few traffic laws, Cam was able to get to the school before the girls were taken back to the office to wait for her. Not before Jules and Meg had gotten huffy, but that was something that Cam could deal with. Judgmental stares from the office staff, not so much.
As for Mickey, she was unruffled and unbothered by the five-minute wait. How a seven-year-old managed to be an emotional rock to her mom was beyond Cam, but she was grateful for it. She just hoped Mickey wouldn’t end up spending years in therapy to make up for it.
“Mom, don’t forget, me and Jules have ballet practice today,” Meg reminded her.
“Jules is mean?” Cam teased.
Meg rolled her eyes. “Fine. Jules and I.”
“Actually, girls, you may have to miss today, unless your gram can take you. And you know how she is with directions.”
“We get to go to Gram’s house?” Mickey asked. She loved her gram.
“Get to?” Jules whined. “She doesn’t have a TV. She doesn’t have a computer. She doesn’t even have an iPod.”
“I know,” Mickey replied. “Isn’t it great?”
Jules rolled her eyes. That was one expression she and Meg had perfected.
“You are so weird.”
“I know,” Mickey said again with a half smile. “Isn’t it great?”
“Mom--” Jules began.
“Enough, you two,” Cam cut her off, looking to avoid the fight. “Mickey, stop baiting your sister. Jules, stop being so…”
“Obstreperous?” Mickey finished for her.
Cam suppressed a smile. She couldn’t be seen to be taking sides when it came to these kinds of confrontations between her daughters. They were infrequent enough, but when they happened Cam was invariably in Mickey’s camp. That would not go over well.
Jules huffed. “I don’t even know what that word means.”
Mickey just crossed her arms like she had won the argument. Which in Cam’s mind, she pretty much had.
She dropped the kids off with their grandmother, Cam’s mother-in-law. Considering the amount of issues that existed between Cam and Randall, her ex, her relationship with Randy’s mom was surprisingly good. Complicated, yes. Strained at times, but Iris knew her son and acknowledged his flaws.
“There’s my three favorite girls,” Iris crooned, holding out her arms wide for hugs. The girls rushed in, giving their gram huge squeezes.
“What are we going to do today, Gram?” Meg probed, excitement tingeing her tone, probably in spite of herself. Jules and Meg might complain about the lack of tech here, but they always came away from these visits chattering about what they’d done with their grandmother.
“Oh, I think you might find our next ‘project’ laid out on the kitchen table if you’ll go and take a look,” Iris said, pinching Meg’s nose. Meg giggled and ran off with Jules while Mickey took another moment to give her gran a second hug. Then she tore off after her other two sisters.
“Thanks, Iris,” Cam breathed. “You’re a lifesaver, as usual.”
Iris reached out and rubbed Cam’s upper arm, concern etched on her face. “I love having the girls. You know I do. But are you okay?”
It wasn’t a question that Cam was used to having anyone ask, and it took her off guard. Her instinct was to say that she was fine, but the truth was, she wasn’t sure. And the tears that had sprung to her eyes at the question made her think that maybe she wasn’t so okay right now.
She cleared her throat, wiping at her eyes. “Oh, you know. Sometimes…”
“… It just gets to be too much,” Iris finished for her, giving a last pat to Cam’s arm. “I know.” She turned and began picking at one of the perfect rosebushes she grew in the yard, a clear sign she was uncomfortable. “I’ve got the bail money pulled together, so that’s something you can take off your list, at least.”
The apparent non sequitur threw Cam off. Bail money?
And then it hit her. Tomorrow was the anniversary of Ryan’s abduction.
Even with the reminder from Mickey, it had gone straight out of her head. Somehow, every year it ended up taking her by surprise. Classic avoidance.
That tactic might have been fine if it wasn’t for her ex. Every year since Ryan went missing, Robert had gone on a bender and ended up picking a fight in whatever bar he landed. There had only been one year that he hadn’t ended up in prison, and that was just because a kind… and very large… bartender had put him in a headlock.
“Right,” Cam said, after a pause. “I’ll do what I can to be available to help you pick him up.”
“I know it’s awkward, sweetie, but he does respond better to you when he’s drunk,” Iris said, still paying an inordinate amount of attention to her well-tended rosebush. She finally seemed to realize what she was doing and turned back to Cam with a wry smile. “Now. You run off and do what you have to do. I’m going to go have fun with my grandbabies. I’ll make sure they get to school on time tomorrow.” She waved as Cam trotted back out to her minivan.
Leaving her girls, even with Iris, was always felt like surgery without anesthetic. But almost before she could begin feeling the pain, she got a phone call. Harper.
“So have I got some news for you.”
Chapter 3
Harper squeezed in between two cars, getting a honk and a middle finger for her efforts. She swerved through the tiny gap and made a blind lane change, hoping against hope that there wasn’t another car there.
Following a car in heavy traffic sucked. Jarom was about to get away from her, and while she was mostly sure that he was headed back to the house in Mission Hills, there was no way to be positive until he got there.
Another horn, this time from a douchebag in a BMW, reminded her that blind lane changes in San Diego were maybe not the best idea. Sloppy, sloppy.
One honk on the freeway wouldn’t attract undue notice. They happened all the time. Two in a row and Harper could end up getting attention that she didn’t want right now. Up to this point, she’d done a good job of tailing Jarom without him suspecting. Too much more of this and she was going to get busted.
At least his Jetta was showing no signs of evasive maneuvers at this point. If he was on to her, there would have been a shift in driving technique. Right?
2nd Cycle of the Harbinger Series Collection Page 35