I didn’t answer her. Instead I clicked on a folder and the screen filled with the picture of Dutch and me. Whipping it around, I showed Jane the image. ‘‘Do you recognize him?!’’ I demanded.
Jane’s eyes became large round orbs at the sudden change in my demeanor. ‘‘I... I... I... ,’’ she stammered as she focused on the picture.
‘‘That’s my boyfriend,’’ I snapped. ‘‘Do you know him?’’
Jane gulped and Cat put a gentle hand on my shoulder, but I pulled away from her. ‘‘Tell me!’’ I yelled.
‘‘He does sort of look familiar,’’ she said, sitting back in her chair and crossing her arms uncomfortably.
I pushed out of my chair again and hurried over to my backpack. Shuffling around, I pulled out the picture of Delgado. Pointing to it, I said, ‘‘How about him?’’
Jane squinted at the framed photo. ‘‘Maybe I’ve seen him before?’’ she said, almost as a question.
I threw the photo into the backpack. ‘‘Come on,’’ I said to Candice, my voice filled with a steely edge. ‘‘There’s someplace we need to take you.’’
* * *
We left Cat and Nora at the cabin. Neither was anxious to ride along with the happy psychic. ‘‘I’ll have dinner ready for you when you get back,’’ Nora promised. Then she leaned in to whisper to me, ‘‘And go easy on her, Abby. She may be involved or she may just have been caught up in something that was beyond her control.’’
Candice drove—Nora had also loaned us her minivan— and I directed her back toward Las Vegas. It took us only about twenty minutes to get there and I had Candice pull around to the back of the building I pointed out. ‘‘Around there,’’ I said, trying not to stare at the giant green cat sitting on the castle turret.
‘‘This looks so familiar,’’ Jane said in a breathy voice from the backseat. ‘‘God, I swear I’ve been here before!’’
We pulled into the back of the alley and parked down from the strip club where Delgado had been kidnapped. The crime-scene tape had been removed by now and we got out of the van and looked up and down the length of the alley.
Jane was looking like she’d just seen a ghost, and Candice and I both knew that something must be registering just by the way she began to walk down the alley with purpose, like she knew exactly where she was going.
We followed quietly behind her until she was about two blocks from the club. She stood outside a door with a small window and inside the door was a lit stairwell. Jane reached for the door, but it was locked tight. She stepped back and looked up to the second-story window to the right of the stairs. ‘‘I live here,’’ she whispered.
Candice grabbed my arm and gave me a look that said, ‘‘Whoa!’’ I nodded and we waited another moment while Jane worked it out. Finally she moved over to a beat-up garbage can and turned it over on its side. Under the can was one of those magnetized hide-a-keys. She pulled the small metal box off the can and slid the top open, revealing a key. This she inserted into the keyhole of the door and turned it. The door clicked open.
We followed her through and up the stairs to the second floor, and stood outside a door. Jane tried to open that one too, but it was also locked. She looked at the key in her palm, inserted it into the keyhole, and turned, and the door unlocked.
Before Jane could enter, Candice had her hand on her shoulder. ‘‘Wait,’’ she whispered to Jane. ‘‘Let me check it out first.’’
Jane stepped aside and Candice eased herself close to the door. Very carefully she opened it a crack and looked into the interior. I was behind Candice and I could tell a light was on inside that hadn’t been visible from the window below.
Candice opened the door another inch and a tiny creak sounded from the hinges. She moved it open another crack and scanned the interior of the room just beyond the door. Finally, she opened it far enough to wedge herself through, and Jane and I waited anxiously for Candice to come back to the opening and give us the all clear.
Finally, Candice came back to the door and pulled it all the way open. ‘‘It’s clear,’’ she said. ‘‘No one’s here.’’
We moved into the room and I took in the interior. A large living room opened up to a small galley kitchen, much like the one back at the cabin, and what must have been a bedroom and a bath just down a small hallway.
There was a desk against one wall with a leather chair and a laptop computer sat closed on the desk. My radar hummed and I gave the desk a closer look, and that’s when I noticed it. ‘‘Oh, God!’’ I said, dashing to the leather chair where a jacket hung loosely around it.
‘‘What?’’ Candice asked.
I held up the jacket, my eyes filling with tears. ‘‘It’s Dutch’s,’’ I said.
Candice looked at Jane. ‘‘Where is he?’’ she demanded.
‘‘I don’t know!’’ Jane said, and I could tell she meant it. ‘‘I don’t even know how I know I live here!’’
Candice scowled at her and moved over to me. Taking the jacket out of my stunned hands, she went through the pockets and pulled out Dutch’s FBI badge. She gave this to me and I clutched it like it was a talisman.
I left Candice to investigate the computer as I walked farther into the apartment. Jane, meanwhile, was watching both of us like a caged animal. ‘‘I swear I don’t remember anything else,’’ she said as I passed her on the way to the bedroom.
‘‘I know,’’ I said flatly.
I went into the bedroom and flipped on the light. The bed had been slept in and judging by the way the sheets on the queen bed had been tossed around, I knew a man had occupied it last. I moved to the bed and sat down, staring around the room. A pair of men’s jeans lay on the floor, and I reached down to pick them up. I checked the size. They were the same size Dutch wore.
Jane came into the doorway and looked at me with a guilty expression. ‘‘That guy on the computer,’’ she said carefully. ‘‘I swear I know him.’’
My eyes found hers. ‘‘How well?’’
Jane fidgeted with her shirt. ‘‘Really well,’’ she admitted.
It was beginning to add up. All Dutch’s quick trips out of town starting from about four months ago. His insistence that if anything should happen to him, I go to Boston and forget about our life together. The secrets, the lies, the deceptions.
I got up off the bed and moved past Jane back to the hallway. Flipping on the bathroom light, I opened the medicine cabinet. Dutch’s brand of hair gel and his shaving cream were neatly stored on the shelves there. I closed my eyes and I swore I could even smell his aftershave.
‘‘Abby?’’ Candice called from the living room.
I shut the medicine cabinet and left the bathroom. ‘‘What?’’ I asked as I went to her at the desk.
‘‘This is Dutch’s computer,’’ she said.
‘‘I know.’’
‘‘You do?’’ she asked, turning to me.
‘‘Yes,’’ I said. My voice sounded flat and distant in my own ears.
‘‘Well, most of the stuff on it has been erased,’’ she said. ‘‘But I did find this in the drawer,’’ she added, pulling out Dutch’s passport.
‘‘His wallet was found at the accident,’’ I said. ‘‘So he held on to this to allow him to travel with ID.’’
‘‘That’s what it looks like,’’ Candice said soberly.
‘‘We should go,’’ I said. I wanted to get the hell out of the apartment. A million thoughts were flying around inside my head and the foremost of them was the fact that in Jane’s energy was a tall blond man who had recently given her a diamond and gotten her pregnant.
‘‘Should we take this stuff with us?’’ Candice said, pointing to the computer and the jacket.
‘‘No,’’ I said. ‘‘Leave it. Let’s just go.’’
Candice ignored me and picked up the jacket and the computer. I gave her a dark look, but she wasn’t taking it. ‘‘There’s more to this story, Abby. I just know it.’’
Jane followed
us out into the hallway. ‘‘Hey,’’ she said as we looked at her. ‘‘Is it all right if I come back with you guys? I mean, I still don’t know who I am, and you were doing so great about helping me figure it out.’’
‘‘The guy who’s been living here can probably identify you,’’ I snapped. I wasn’t trying to be rude, but I was feeling a mountain of hurt at the moment.
Jane flinched at the ice in my voice. ‘‘I don’t remember him,’’ she said. ‘‘What if he beats me up or forces me to turn tricks or something?’’
Candice actually cracked a smile. ‘‘It’s fine, Jane,’’ she said. I gave her another dark look, which she ignored as much as the first. ‘‘Again, there’s more to the story,’’ she insisted.
I sighed heavily and turned away and we left the building, making our way back to the minivan. As we were about to get in, a guy came out of the back and looked at Jane. ‘‘Misty?’’ he said. ‘‘Is that you?’’
Jane looked at him briefly, shook her head, and jumped into the van.
‘‘Yo! Misty!’’ he called again as Candice started up the engine. ‘‘Where you been, babe? The guys have all been asking about you!’’
Candice was in the front passenger seat with the computer. She’d suggested that I drive back to the cabin. ‘‘Hit it,’’ she told me when everyone was seated.
I pulled out of the alley with the guy still calling for Misty. From the backseat we could hear Jane begin to cry. ‘‘What’s the matter, Jane?’’ Candice said.
‘‘I’m a stripper,’’ she said. ‘‘I don’t work for Cirque. I’m nothing but a cheap stripper named Misty.’’
Candice shot me a look and mouthed, ‘‘Fog,’’ and I suddenly realized what my crew had been trying to tell me. I shook my head and focused on driving.
We drove for most of the way in relative silence, other than Candice clicking on the computer keyboard and Jane—Misty—sniffling in the back, but about five miles from the cabin my radar gave a ting and I happened to glance at Candice. She was staring at the computer screen with such a look of contempt that I asked, ‘‘What?’’
She jumped, startled by the question and the fact that I’d caught her finding something she obviously didn’t like. ‘‘Nothing,’’ she said, and slapped the lid of the laptop closed.
I turned my eyes back to the road. ‘‘You might as well tell me,’’ I said. ‘‘I’ll figure it out eventually anyway.’’
Candice gave an audible sigh. ‘‘A lot of the hard drive has been erased,’’ she said. ‘‘What remains are the recent Internet Explorer searches, and I was able to track a few of those.’’
‘‘What was Dutch researching?’’ I asked, feeling like a lead weight had settled into my stomach.
Candice swirled her fingertip on the top of the computer. After a long moment she said, ‘‘The last two searches were to the Bank of Las Vegas and JetBlue airlines. I couldn’t track the Bank of Las Vegas search beyond their home page, but the JetBlue search revealed that he was looking into booking a trip to Dubai via the Tijuana Airport.’’
That news flash hit me like a punch in the gut. ‘‘Did he book the flight?’’ I asked.
‘‘Not that I could tell,’’ Candice said. ‘‘But the departure date he plugged in was for the day after tomorrow.’’
‘‘Gives him time to drive to Tijuana,’’ I said, suddenly feeling extremely tired.
‘‘There’s more,’’ Candice said.
‘‘Dish.’’
‘‘He was looking at the price for two adults.’’
‘‘He’s expecting company,’’ I said, and my eyes veered to the rearview mirror, where the reflection held Jane sitting with her knees pulled up and tears dribbling down her cheeks while she gazed forlornly out the window.
* * *
When we got back to the cabin, Nora and Cat were just finishing up dinner, which, even though I wasn’t at all hungry, still made my mouth water. ‘‘Nora has news from the Las Vegas PD front!’’ Cat said as we entered.
‘‘Awesome,’’ Candice said. ‘‘We do too, but you guys go first.’’
Nora got up from the table and pointed to the chairs around it. ‘‘Sit down and I’ll get your plates ready while I fill you in,’’ she instructed. We each took a seat and she bustled about the kitchen and filled us in. ‘‘I spoke to Bob about ten minutes ago—he wanted to know how the bake sale was going. Anyway, I told you, Abby, that he tells me everything, and apparently Robillard is fine, but his car is totaled and the car wash had something like fifty thousand dollars’ worth of damages to it!’’
‘‘I hope that comes directly out of the bastard’s pocket,’’ I said moodily.
‘‘Not likely,’’ Candice said.
‘‘But that’s not the biggest news,’’ Nora continued as she brought our plates to the table and set them down. ‘‘The instructions finally came in from the kidnappers of Mr. Delgado.’’
Candice glanced at me. ‘‘Did Bob give you any of the details?’’
‘‘Yes, he said...’’ Nora’s voice trailed off as her eyes fell on Jane and she seemed to catch herself.
‘‘What?’’ Jane asked when all eyes turned instinctively to her.
Nora came round and set a plate in front of her. ‘‘The kidnapper wants two million dollars and... you.’’
‘‘Me?’’ Jane gasped. ‘‘What do you mean, they want me?’’
Nora leaned against the kitchen counter. ‘‘The instructions are that two million dollars are to be hand delivered to the Jane Doe being held prisoner at the hospital, and direct her to be escorted across the U.S. border into Mexico. Apparently, the kidnappers don’t realize you’ve escaped. They also said that if you’re followed, Delgado’s a dead guy.’’
‘‘Too late,’’ Candice snorted, and Nora and Jane looked at her.
‘‘Delgado’s already dead,’’ I said. ‘‘He died yesterday around noon, in fact.’’
Nora gasped. ‘‘No!’’ she said. ‘‘Oh, those bastards!’’
‘‘Bastard,’’ Candice said. ‘‘We believe there’s only one guy pulling the strings.’’
I pushed the food around on my plate and I could feel Cat’s eyes pinned to me. ‘‘Abby?’’ she said. ‘‘What’s happened?’’
I felt a huge lump in my throat and I found it hard to swallow. Candice recognized that I was on the verge of losing it, so she said, ‘‘Abby thinks that Dutch might be behind this entire thing.’’
A collective gasp went on at the table. ‘‘Robillard was right?’’
And suddenly, my left side felt thick and heavy. Hearing the theory out loud was all I needed to understand that things were definitely not as they seemed. ‘‘No,’’ I found myself saying. ‘‘It’s not Dutch. It’s someone who really wants to make it look like Dutch.’’
‘‘Who?’’ Candice asked.
‘‘I don’t know,’’ I said, and my gut filled with a sense of dread. ‘‘But if we don’t find Dutch soon, I know in my heart of hearts he’s going to die.’’
‘‘Abby,’’ Candice said. ‘‘You’ve got to try and focus on his location. Ask your crew for any kind of clue! Maybe we can piece it together like we did for Jane.’’
I closed my eyes and concentrated. Reaching out to my crew, I begged them to tell me where Dutch was. My mind’s eye filled with the image of an oak tree with name tags that suddenly morphed into a palm tree. I opened my eyes and got up from the table and began to pace, scratching my head in frustration. ‘‘I can’t make any damn sense of this!’’ I said.
‘‘Sense of what?’’ Cat said gently.
I looked up and saw the faces of three dear friends and one genuinely concerned stranger. ‘‘It’s that stupid oak tree and palm tree thing,’’ I said, and a name tag floated into my mind along with the distinct name of Hanna.
‘‘That’s the stuff you drew on the notepad, right?’’ Candice said as she got up from the table and hurried over to the pad of paper.
‘‘Yeah,’�
�� I said, even while I heard Chase’s daughter’s name over and over in my head like a drumbeat. ‘‘Now all I keep hearing is the name Hanna,’’ I said, my frustration growing by the second.
‘‘Hadn’t we decided on the theory that a tree might have been planted in Hanna’s name?’’
‘‘We’ve got to find out,’’ said Cat. ‘‘Abby, we’ve got to ask Laney if she and Chase planted a tree in Hanna’s name. Maybe they planted it at a park or something, and that’s where Dutch is, being held captive, tied to that very tree!’’
Ridiculous as it sounded, something about what Cat said rang true in my mind. ‘‘How can we talk to Laney?’’ I said desperately. ‘‘Robillard’s going to have his bozos watching her like a hawk and, Candice, you said they’ll have her phone lines tapped! They’ll spot any one of us a mile away if we try and get to her.’’
‘‘Not every one of us,’’ Nora sang with a distinct twinkle in her eye. Then she reached over and picked up one of the plates of brownies and said, ‘‘Hello, Mrs. Rivers, I’m your neighbor down the street, Susan Hoffman. I heard about your husband and thought you might need a little company tonight. My friends tell me I’m a very good listener.’’
Candice broke into a big grin. ‘‘Nora,’’ she said, ‘‘if I ever come back to Vegas and put up a shingle, I’m so hiring you for a sidekick!’’
* * *
Half an hour later we were all in Nora’s van with Candice at the wheel parked at the curb one block over from Laney and Chase’s house. Nora stood on the street with her plate full of brownies, and my cell phone. ‘‘Do you remember the address?’’ Candice asked.
‘‘I do,’’ Nora said.
‘‘Okay,’’ said Candice. ‘‘Now, just cut through that yard like we talked about and make sure you come down the driveway on the other side. If the Feds in that sedan parked across the street from Laney’s notice you, they’ll think you’re coming out of your house.’’
‘‘Got it,’’ Nora said, and I could tell she was anxious to be on her way.
‘‘Whatever you do,’’ Candice said, ‘‘don’t make eye contact with the guys in the sedan. It makes them uncomfortable, and if they get uncomfortable, they start getting curious.’’ We had driven down Laney’s street a few moments before, and sure enough a black sedan with tinted windows was parked across the street from Laney’s house.
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