There was no point in trying to get back into the music. The moment was gone. Felix pressed a button on the remote to turn off the stereo. Perhaps because he had nothing better to do, he took the ID out of his briefcase and studied it again. He’d only seen a fake ID one other time in his life. His son, who was now an adult and living in California, had one when he was nineteen. Felix had grounded him for a month. That ID, though, had clearly been fake. Felix never found out if his son had been successful in buying alcohol with it. If he had, it was because the cashier didn’t care. This ID was on another level. If Felix didn’t know the man in the picture, he would have thought it was legit.
What would he have done if that had been the case? he wondered. Nurses and visitors alike had turned in lost scarves, hats, and jackets. They had turned in single gloves, two decks of playing cards, and once a glass baking tray with unfinished brownies in it. All but the tray of brownies had gone into a large plastic bin Felix kept in his office. (The tray of brownies would’ve made a mess, so he kept it on his desk.) Most items, including the tray of brownies, were claimed within a couple of days. The few that went unclaimed for more than three months he either donated to Goodwill or threw away.
An ID, though, was not like the other items. It didn’t belong in a large plastic bin. It was important. So what would he do? The question was entirely academic since he knew this was not simply a lost ID. Still, he thought through the answer, building a blueprint for him to follow should the issue ever arise.
Since Felix didn’t know the names of every person on staff, he would start by checking the HR system. If that didn’t work, he would search the residents database by last name. Then, if necessary, he would check the visitor logs for the last—how may days?—three days. He couldn’t imagine a lost ID going undiscovered for that long, but it was best to be thorough.
But not every visitor’s name went into the log. What would he do then if he still hadn’t turned up a phone number? Would he have any choice other than to drop it into the plastic bin with all the other lost items? Even if he did, would he bother pursuing it?
The answers to all three questions were, respectively, nothing, probably not, and no. At some point, it simply wasn’t his problem. But since this was entirely academic, and since his curiosity had gotten the better of him, he looked up the name Christopher Bell on his computer in the bedroom. Several listings came up. On a whim, he did another search, this time including the address. Since the ID was fake, he didn’t expect a match. But there was one—it was one of those sites that harvested personal data—and it included a phone number.
Christopher Bell
After Arkin had thumped Rick on the back of his skull and dragged his body behind a dumpster, he’d searched Rick for a hotel key and returned with Chris to the Best Western to scour Rick’s room. They hadn’t found the ring. Arkin had asked Chris what he wanted to do, and Chris had said he didn’t know.
Privately, Chris regretted bringing Arkin along. Arkin fed his worst instincts. He might have beaten Rick unrecognizable if he’d gotten the chance (and he still might), but he wouldn’t have chased Rick through a crowded grocery store if he had been on his own. He wouldn’t have fired a gun at the thief. (Arkin had said he missed Rick on purpose, but Chris had his doubts.) He wouldn’t have broken into Rick’s apartment or hotel room. Chris had his reputation to think about.
But when Arkin had said that if Chris wanted the ring back they couldn’t leave Rick where he was, Chris didn’t insist they put an end to the madness. He didn’t tell Arkin they should turn him over to the police. What he said was, “I know somewhere we can take him.”
That somewhere was the small yacht on which he’d considered proposing to Emma. Chris shifted in his seat and cracked his knuckles. He was sitting on one of two sofas in the cabin. Arkin sat on the other.
The boat, which Chris had named Course Correction, was docked at the Belmont Harbor. He had no interest in taking it out on the open water right now. As things stood, the heater was working as hard as it could to keep the cold to a minimum. He didn’t think it would be a good idea to add wind to the equation.
Besides, there’d been nobody around when they arrived at the docks and Chris hadn’t seen a soul since. It was too cold out here for anybody who wasn’t looking to stash a body.
Neither Chris nor Arkin had spoken in a while. They were listening for signs of life. Rick was locked in an exterior closet, normally used for storing life jackets and inflatable rafts. Although Chris had said even in here they would hear him banging on the hull when he woke up, he wasn’t sure that was true and had only said it because it was too cold to wait outside. He suspected Arkin knew that, which was why he was listening just as intently as Chris was.
That had been a while ago. Chris had thought Rick would have regained consciousness by now. Figuring he better check on him, he got up and was about to announce his intention when his phone rang.
Chris glanced at the Caller ID. He was expecting to see Emma’s name on it. He had been gone for several hours and she was probably getting worried. But it wasn’t her. The number wasn’t associated with any of his contacts. He wasn’t wild about answering a call from anyone, friend or stranger, under the circumstances. But considering how the last call from a stranger had gone, he decided he better.
A nerdy voice said, “I’m looking for Christopher Bell.”
Chris had half expected it to be the same person who had called him earlier and given him Rick’s location. He could tell right away that it wasn’t. “I’m Chris.”
“I have your ID. Well, not yours. This is clearly a forgery, but it has your name on it. I was going to call the police in the morning and let them know I found it. Then I started poking around the Internet and found your number and, I don’t know, I guess I thought you should know.”
Chris had a suspicion it was Rick’s. “Where did you find it?”
“Oh, I guess I should have started with that, huh? My name is Felix Winkler. I’m the nursing home administrator over at Heartland. One of my nurses found it. She could tell it was a forgery right away because the picture on it was that of a resident’s son.”
“What’s his name?”
Felix hesitated. “I’m not sure if I should—I mean, that might violate my resident’s privacy and, well, isn’t that up to the police?”
Arkin gestured as if to ask what the call was about and Chris waved him off. “Was his name Richard Hawthorne?”
Felix made a sound like he was about to say something, but didn’t. Chris was pretty sure that was a yes. “Skinny guy. Spiky black hair.”
Then Felix spoke, and what he said was not what Chris was expecting. “No. I mean, yes, that was his name. Richard Hawthorne. But that’s not what he looks like. Richard has blond hair. Parted. Brushed to the side. He’s very plain looking.”
While Chris knew Rick had dyed his hair, the answer still bothered him. If he was just getting a call now about the fake ID, it must have been found at the nursing home recently. How long would an ID sit on the floor at a nursing home before somebody turned it in? Not long. “When was the last time you saw him?”
“Earlier today. He came by to drop off a check for his mother’s care.”
“Was he wearing an army jacket?”
“I’ve never seen him in anything like that.”
“What time did you see him?”
“Sometime around three, I think. Why?”
Something was wrong. That was hours after Rick had stopped by his office. He had spiky black hair and an army jacket then. He had spiky black hair and an army jacket now. That could only mean one thing: whoever they had locked in the boat’s small storage closet wasn’t Richard Hawthorne.
As if on cue, he heard a series of thumps.
Liam Parker
Chris dragged Liam out of the storage closet and into the cabin. He pushed Liam onto one of the sofas. Liam was scared and confused, but also glad to be somewhere warm.
On the sofa across from
him sat Chris’s friend. He had Anita’s gun in his lap, aimed at the ground.
Chris stayed on his feet. “Who are you?”
Liam wasn’t sure which name to give them. He was certain these men believed he was Rick. That was probably what they expected him to say. Denying it could only lead to trouble. But they also wanted something he couldn’t give them, and if he said he was Rick, things might get even worse. Before he could settle on the answer that would be best for him, Chris added, “Somebody called from the Heartland Nursing Home. They found an ID with my name on it. They say the person in the picture is Rick. His mother is a patient there, so I guess they know what he looks like pretty well, and it’s not you. I’ve been through your wallet. You have an ID and credit cards for Liam Parker. Is that your real name?”
Liam was glad he wouldn’t have to lie. Maybe these men had realized their mistake and were going to let him go. “Yes.”
“How do you know Richard Hawthorne?”
Alice. “He’s got my daughter. Or had my daughter. I don’t know anymore. I need to see if she’s okay.”
Chris crossed his arms over his chest. “Why did you have an ID with Richard’s name on it?”
“He gave it to me. He acted like he wanted to help me. But he was just trying to get me out of my condo . . .” Liam trailed off. He realized the only way out of this was to tell Chris everything. The story wouldn’t make sense otherwise.
He told them in brief about the night he found Elise’s body, the arrest, the search for the killer, how he ended up at Ellison Trust, and Rick’s help with the fake ID and hotel room. Chris listened silently. His friend scoffed here and there.
“I don’t know why you’re looking for Rick,” Liam said when he was done. “But I need to find him too. I think he might know what happened to Elise. At least he’ll know something—it just seems like he has to—and I know someone who might be able to help.”
Chris and his friend exchanged a glance.
“He’s full of shit,” the friend said.
Chris pulled a cellphone out of his pocket and, after poking the screen several times, turned it around so his friend could see what he was looking at. Then he threw the phone to Liam. Liam recognized it as his burner and on the screen he saw an article about his escape.
“Call whoever you need to call to help your daughter,” Chris said. “Then we’ll deal with Rick.”
Liam minimized the browser and was confronted with a message from Anita.
What are u doing? Call me.
Instead, he dialed the main number for his condo building. The concierge answered with a sleepy, “Hello?”
Liam knew everyone who worked the desk. He could tell from the voice that this was the man who had complimented Elise’s dog. “It’s Liam,” he said, talking fast.
“Mr. Liam. What’s up? What can I do for you?” He sounded surprised, but it didn’t seem like he knew Liam was on the run.
“Have you seen Alice tonight?”
“Came through with a guy a couple hours ago. Didn’t look too happy. She all right?”
“Are they still there?”
“The guy she was with left some time ago. As far as I saw, she didn’t go with him.”
Liam couldn’t decide if that was good or bad. If the concierge was right, she wasn’t a hostage anymore. But she would have called Liam and left a message if she was free, so she was either tied up or—
“Can you go up there and check on her?” Liam said, refusing to consider the alternative.
“Yeah, I guess so. What’s going on?”
“I need someone to check on her.”
“You want me to call you back?”
“I’ll wait.”
“All right. I won’t be long.” There was a click and then soft jazz cut in mid-song.
“I lied to you when you came by my office,” Chris said, and Liam wondered if he could hear the hold music. “I met Elise once. It was years ago. Summertime. I was crossing through the park and saw her pacing around a fountain. When I asked what she was doing, she said she’d dropped her keys in the water and was trying to figure out how to get them out without getting too wet. So I played the hero and, as I’m sure she expected, asked her out. Anyway, when we went for dinner, she showed me a ring she said belonged to her grandmother. It was expensive, she said. A family heirloom, irreplaceable. I had my doubts. It didn’t look expensive. But I played along. Then, halfway through the dinner she went to the bathroom. She was gone a while, and when she came back she was in tears. Said she’d lost the ring. It didn’t feel right—losing a ring between her seat and the bathroom. Of course, when she went back to the bathroom once more to look for it, a guy came up to me and told me he’d found it, but he wasn’t about to give it to me out of the kindness of his heart. He said he wanted money for it, and I’d better be quick about it because once my date came back from the bathroom, he was gone. I told him I didn’t have any cash and he said lucky for me there was an ATM right around the corner. He just happened to know that, right? I went with him. We weren’t two steps outside the door when I beat the crap out of him. And, lo and behold, who should come running out the door seconds later but Elise. ‘What are you doing?’ she shouted and tried to pull me off him and, right then, I knew for sure this was all one big scam. The whole fountain thing was a way to look for suckers. If you’d wade into the water for a girl’s keys, you’d pay money to get her treasured family heirloom back, wouldn’t you? Wonder how many times they used that.”
Liam knew this must be the real story of how Elise had gotten the black eye. He didn’t need Chris to tell him that when Elise came out of the restaurant he’d hit her too.
“Now I’m thinking that guy who helped her must’ve been Rick. I guess when he saw me on the street, he remembered me. Maybe he stole my wallet as some sort of payback. He should’ve stopped there. But he conned his way into my safety deposit box and took a ring that really was worth a lot of money.” Chris’s face softened. “Ironic, isn’t it?”
That’s what Chris must be after, Liam thought. The ring. No matter how much it was worth, it seemed to Liam like a petty thing to be concerned about. But he decided to keep his opinion to himself.
The phone line clicked, and Alice said, “Daddy?” She sounded like she was shaking, but at least she was alive.
“Honey, are you all right? Did he hurt you?”
“No, I’m okay. He tied me up and left me on the floor. He said he had somebody watching the building and if I tried to escape he’d kill me. I was so scared nobody would ever find me.”
“It’s all right. You’re safe now. There’s nobody outside the building.”
Alice started sobbing, and Liam tried to comfort her as best he could. He wished he could be there in person. When she settled down some, he told her he would come see her as soon as possible and asked her to put the concierge back on the phone.
“Yes, Mr. Liam?” the concierge said.
“Call her mom please. Alice knows the number. If you can’t reach her, take Alice home yourself, okay?”
While Liam was certain Rick was working alone and that he was long gone, Alice wasn’t in any state to be left on her own and, frankly, Liam couldn’t bear the thought of it. She was too upset. She needed somebody with her. And, most important, even though he knew she was as safe on her own now as she’d ever been, he didn’t feel like she was safe. Perhaps that was his parental instinct working overtime—no surprise after what he’d been through. But until he could hold her in his arms and see for himself she was all right, somebody had to keep an eye on her.
“Sure thing,” the concierge said.
Liam hung up. For the first time since finding out Alice had been taken, he was no longer scared or sad. He was angry. Rick had taken everything from him. He didn’t need to log into his accounts to know Rick had wiped them out. That would mean the end of his business. And his freedom, that was gone too, wasn’t it? And Rick had been there, pulling levers in the background every step of the way
, guiding his downfall.
He knew Elise. He’d worked with her. He’d set Liam up to take the fall when he robbed Chris. He’d abducted Alice. Then it clicked into place. He’d killed Elise.
That had to be right. Rick was at the center of all of this. He had to have killed her. But how did he get from Ava’s to her place to do it before Liam arrived? And why? Why do it? Why do any of it? Was it just for the money?
Only one person could answer those questions and, dammit, Liam was going to find Rick and make him. He was going to get his money back and clear his name. It was time to make everything right.
Liam looked at Chris. “Let’s go get Rick.”
Liam Parker
Liam’s burner couldn’t support Ava’s app, so he downloaded it to Chris’s Android via a private URL. He’d had to jailbreak his iPhone to install it; no such problems here. He logged in and requested a seat at tonight’s game. He filled Chris and Arkin in on who Ava was as he worked. “I have a plan,” he said. “She’ll help us.”
A few minutes later, he got a barcode and a six-digit PIN. “We’re in business.”
The three men piled into Chris’s SUV and Liam directed Chris to Ava’s building. They parked in the garage, used the barcode to unlock the elevator. Liam pressed the button for the ninth floor. He typed the PIN into the keypad beside Midwest Design’s front door. The lock clicked softly.
He led Chris and Arkin through the lobby to the private room in back. “Stay here a minute,” he told them.
“Hold on,” Arkin said. “If you think we’re letting you out of our sight—”
Chris placed a hand on his shoulder and squeezed. “It’s fine,” he said to Liam. “We’ll be here.”
Liam stepped through the door. Ava was sitting in her usual chair. Except for the bodyguards that flanked the door, she was alone. The light above the poker table was off.
A Reagan Keeter Box Set: Three page-turning thrillers that will leave you wondering who you can trust Page 42