After a few minutes, they heard a lot of commotion in front of the warehouse, and Fenway and McVie stopped kissing each other so they could see what was going on. An ambulance had arrived, and Dez stepped into the back of it, presumably to ride with Olivia to the hospital. Olivia’s nightmare wasn’t over just yet—Fenway knew she still faced a couple of hours of poking and prodding—but it had to be better than the warehouse.
She pulled herself off McVie’s lap and half-landed back in the passenger seat. Her dress had ridden all the way up her hips, but she pulled it down and McVie didn’t say anything. They both watched the scene unfold in front of them.
After the ambulance left, a CSI truck came in a few minutes later. Kav and Melissa got out with their kits, already gloved up.
“We’re going to be here for hours,” Fenway whispered.
Mark got in the driver’s side of the cruiser Dez had pulled up in.
“O ye of little faith,” McVie said.
Mark started the cruiser up with a roar. McVie turned the ignition as soon as he heard the engine start.
Fenway held her breath.
McVie left the lights off and backed slowly down the alleyway.
“They’ll see the reflection of the brake lights,” Fenway said.
“I don’t think so. They’re paying attention to a million other things.”
It seemed to take forever to back out from between the two ironwoods, off onto 27th Street. They finally made it, and McVie turned the Highlander and drove away.
Fenway finally exhaled. “That was kind of a rush,” she said.
“It’s even more of a rush when you’re the first guy running into the warehouse.”
“Or the one swinging that battering ram.” Fenway flashed a smile at McVie.
“Yeah.”
Fenway wanted to invite McVie over to her place, but she wasn’t sure how he’d react. The long kissing session was as passionate as anything she’d ever had with Akeel. And McVie was more of a grownup.
Fenway groaned inwardly. Of course McVie was more of a grownup. He was literally fifteen years older than Akeel, with a gorgeous blonde wife and a sixteen-year-old daughter.
She remembered how Dez had reacted when she had found out that Fenway and McVie had spent the night together a couple of months before. Dez hadn’t gone easy on Fenway.
Fenway had justified it to herself back then because turnabout was fair play—Amy slept with someone else, so Craig could, too. But she hadn’t felt good about her decision afterward. And they had just built their working relationship back up to where it wasn’t awkward.
Well—sometimes Fenway still felt awkward. She hated the fact that she still carried a torch for McVie. And maybe he felt the same way.
So making out like a couple of teenagers in the front seat of the Highlander wasn’t a good idea. At least she hadn’t slept with him. Although there was a voice in the back of her head telling her that if she played her cards right, she might have a chance with him once he and Amy called it quits. And from his sleeping on the sofa a couple of nights ago to his sleeping in a motel tonight, Fenway wondered if that wouldn’t be sooner rather than later.
And at least she hadn’t had that second whiskey sour with whatever Zach may or may not have put in her drink.
She actually wished she had just gone dancing—not clubbing, not trying to get with a guy, but just dancing. Maybe with Rachel, although they had gone dancing before, and Rachel had been an even worse dancer than Zach.
Zach. Fenway shuddered.
When they had gone out before, Fenway had seen Rachel’s eyes look up and down at her dancing, almost the way that the boys in the club had looked at her, but with envy, not lust. Fenway had moved effortlessly, really feeling the rhythm, feeling all the men’s eyes on her, even though Fenway thought Rachel was the prettier of the two. But there wasn’t any hate in Rachel’s eyes—jealousy, perhaps, but more because she wanted to be part of what Fenway was doing, not because she wanted the boys’ eyes on her.
Fenway sighed and her breath caught. She was glad Olivia was found and was somewhere safe. But Fenway missed Rachel. She tried not to think of what might have happened to her. What she might be doing, whether or not she was in danger.
Fenway stopped and thought. Rachel had disappeared without a trace, and that in itself was strange. Buprenodone overdoses affected many different parts of the body—but Fenway knew from dealing with a couple of buprenodone overdoses in the Seattle clinic, that the patients needed rest and time, not fancy medication. It was suddenly clear to Fenway that Rachel wasn’t on her own; without money, she wouldn’t have been able to go anywhere, and since she needed days of sleep and fluids to recover, she needed somewhere to stay put. The police had already searched her sister’s apartment and Rachel’s house. Where else could she be hiding out?
Rachel didn’t trust a lot of people, especially after what happened with her father two months before. Her friends still avoided her; Jordan, her friend since fifth grade, had stopped returning her calls. Same thing with a lot of her old friends. Her former mother-in-law? Fenway supposed that was possible, but she didn’t think they were particularly close.
Fenway was pretty sure Rachel trusted her, certainly enough to hide her if she needed it. But Rachel hadn’t contacted her. Fenway was also positive that Dez was a good candidate for Rachel turning to in a bind; Dez was almost like a mother to Rachel, especially after her father went to jail. But Fenway had been over to Dez’s apartment after Rachel’s disappearance. There wasn’t any sign of anyone there besides Dez—although she hadn’t really looked. And Fenway was certain that Dez could keep a secret—from McVie, from Fenway, from everyone else at the sheriff’s office.
Dez might be hiding Rachel somewhere. Fenway wouldn’t put it past her.
Of all the people Rachel trusted, most of them were the friends she went through hard times with in the last couple of months.
Did that include Natalie Andrada—or Captain Elena Valenzuela, or whoever she was?
She kept coming back to Natalie through process of elimination. Rachel wasn’t staying with her sister, or with Fenway, or with Dez—and she didn’t have the financial footprint to be staying anywhere on her own.
Fenway snapped back to reality as bright oncoming headlights shined in her face. A loud growl in her stomach told her she needed to eat before she could think this through any more.
“I’m all keyed up,” Fenway said. “You want to get something to eat?”
McVie shrugged. “Sure.” He looked at the clock on his dashboard. “It’s almost one. What’s open?”
“Jack and Jill’s.”
“Do you actually eat anywhere else?”
“Dos Milagros.”
McVie rolled his eyes.
“And my father takes me to all the pretentious restaurants in the county. But Dos Milagros closed at ten, and the pretentious restaurants are all closed on Tuesdays because that’s when the wizards gather the unicorn tears to prepare the truffle foam.”
McVie chuckled. “You sure you want to go to a sit-down place?”
Fenway imagined grabbing something quick from the all-night market and going back to her apartment with Craig. But she nodded.
“There’s a whole bunch of information you haven’t been read in on yet,” she said. “It’ll be good to have a place to talk it over.”
“You sure you want to read me in? I’m still on leave.”
“I’m sure,” Fenway said.
“Anything you want to tell me now?”
“Well...” Fenway paused, gathering her thoughts. “Piper found out that Natalie isn’t really Natalie.”
“Natalie?”
“Rachel’s admin. The one who let us into the office the day she disappeared.”
“Hold on, Natalie isn’t really Natalie?”
“This is kind of a long story.” She paused. “Perfect for a late-night greasy spoon discussion.”
“Good,” he said. “I’m a little keyed up too.”
They pulled up to Jack and Jill’s at five minutes to one. There were a couple of big rigs parked in the back of the lot, perhaps on their way to or from Santa Barbara or Ventura. Late on a Tuesday night—or early on a Wednesday morning—there weren’t any other customers in the restaurant except for the two truck drivers, both at the counter, staring bleary-eyed at their cups of coffee and half-finished burgers.
“Good evening,” the hostess said, recognizing McVie. “You’re in late.” She looked at Fenway, still in her short black clubbing dress and the strappy high heels, and a look of disapproval crossed her face. Fenway did her best to ignore it.
“Big night,” Craig said. “Knocking down doors, saving lives.”
The hostess smiled and took them to a table on the side, a little away from the truck drivers.
“Coffee?” the hostess said, as she handed both of them a menu.
“Absolutely,” McVie said.
The hostess turned away, and Fenway looked at the late-night menu, knowing she would just order eggs and sourdough toast.
The server bought coffee and cream. Fenway poured the half-and-half into her coffee from the small silver pitcher.
Fenway nodded. “So, I didn’t ask you, Craig, when do you hear about going back?”
“Oh,” McVie said, “that’s not—”
McVie stopped talking and a shadow fell over his face.
“Going back to work,” Fenway said, trying to keep the color from rising to her cheeks. He had thought she meant going back to Amy.
He cleared his throat. “That’s not for another couple of days. Red tape and all.”
The server came and took their order. Fenway waited until she went back into the kitchen before she spoke again.
“So,” Fenway said. “About Natalie.”
Fenway explained everything Piper had told her—how Captain Elena Valenzuela had just dropped off the map, how she had appeared in the back of a photograph of white-collar drug dealers, how she possibly spearheaded a new black-market prescription drug ring, how Nozithrapham could be the next Oxycontin, but even more dangerous because of its classification as a non-opiate.
“Nozithrapham? Is that what Red Skies are?”
Fenway nodded.
She also told him about the strange conversation she had with Natalie, and their plans to meet at Rachel’s office later that morning.
“And I think Rachel is hiding out at her place,” Fenway finished, just as the server came with their plates: eggs and toast for Fenway, a BLT and fries for McVie.
McVie salted his fries, then set the salt down thoughtfully. “Why would you think that Rachel is with Natalie?”
“Because Rachel only trusts a handful of people.” She held up a forkful of egg but didn’t put it in her mouth. “But she’s not with me, she’s not with Dez, and she’s not with her sister, and there’s been no movement on any of her bank accounts or credit cards. She’s got to be hiding out, and it’s got to be close, and I can’t think of anyone other than Natalie.” She finally ate the egg off her fork.
“There’s no way you could get a warrant.”
“Of course not.” Fenway shook her head. “But you could park in front of her house. Take a look and see if there’s any indication that Rachel is there.”
McVie paused as he ate a bite of hash browns. “Fenway, remember that I’m still officially off the job. I don’t have my badge or gun. I don’t have backup.”
“Maybe I could do it.”
“No—my official status isn’t the issue. Check that—it is an issue. But I meant my lack of a firearm.”
“You’re telling me you don’t have a personal firearm?”
McVie sighed. “Yes, I do, but it’s at the house in my gun safe.”
“I’m not asking you to go there straight from here. You can go home first.”
McVie paused. “You know I can’t just waltz in there, not with the way Amy and I are right now.”
Fenway cringed. She hadn’t intended for this to come up.
“My point is,” he continued, ignoring Fenway’s discomfort, “if Natalie really is the one behind this, she’s very dangerous. She might have murdered two people, kidnapped a child, and hired a hit man to kill Rachel. And if Rachel does trust Natalie and Natalie’s the bad guy, can you think of a scenario where Rachel isn’t dead by now?”
The sentence hit Fenway like a slap in the face. McVie was right; even if Fenway’s theory about Rachel going to Natalie held water, Rachel probably wouldn’t have survived an hour, let alone the three days it had been. She set her fork down.
“What are we going to do, then?” she said softly, trying to keep the hysteria out of her voice. “I can’t think of any other explanation.”
“You’ve had other leads,” he said more like a question than a statement.
“Yes,” Fenway admitted, “but everything about Natalie being behind it all fits.”
“But we didn’t see her leaving the warehouse last night,” McVie pointed out. “We couldn’t tell who those two people were, but neither of them had a wheelchair.”
“You know as well as I do that whoever’s trying to get control of the Nozithrapham market here doesn’t do all their own dirty work.” She shook her head. “No, I felt the same way about Stotsky—once I found out that he was Rachel’s dad, everything just slid into place like the last piece of a jigsaw puzzle in my head.”
Fenway could see McVie mulling over the options before he spoke. “I don’t think I can convince anyone in the sheriff’s office to simply go over to her place and take a look around,” he finally said. “Especially not after what happened last night. We’ll have to go through proper channels from now on. And it’s too dangerous for either one of us to do it ourselves.”
“We could go over to Rachel’s and get her .22. And she might still have Dylan’s Glock.”
“Do you hear yourself talking?”
“Do you have a better idea?”
“We don’t have any proof that Natalie has Rachel, Fenway. This is a stretch. I do have a better idea—it’s to work the case until you have something that points to Natalie, or Elena, or whoever she is, actually being guilty of something.”
Fenway thought for a minute. “Isn’t there some sort of misrepresentation of, I don’t know, military personnel or county employees that we could charge her with, so we can at least question her and see inside her place?”
“I’m not going to purposely skirt around the fourth amendment just because you—”
Fenway waited for a few seconds. McVie had a faraway look in his eyes.
“Because I what?” she asked tentatively.
“Hang on,” McVie said thoughtfully. “Of course. A 470b.”
Fenway looked plaintively at McVie and waited for him to explain.
“Sorry,” he said, catching the awkward silence. “Fake ID.”
“Same thing you catch the college kids with trying to buy beer?”
“Yes, but definitely a different application. If she didn’t change her name legally, she might be in possession of a fake ID that allowed her to work for the county fraudulently.”
“Ah,” Fenway said.
“That would at least allow us to question her, and it might be enough to search her property.”
“You did say proper channels,” Fenway said. “What do you need me to do?”
“You said you were going to meet Natalie this morning at Rachel’s office, right?”
“Right.”
“So go there. When does she get in?”
“She said she’d be there at 7:30.”
“OK. While you’re doing that, I’ll call HR and see if I can get any information about her job application. You know, when she first applied for the position. If she didn’t disclose that she’s known by another name, it could be fraud.”
“And talk to Piper,” Fenway interrupted. “She’s got a lot of info on Elena Valenzuela.”
“Will do.”
They ate in silence for a minute or two.
McVie took the last bite of his BLT, pushed his plate away, wiped his mouth, and sat back. “Did I hear you say you got your Accord?”
“I don’t want to talk about it.” She sopped up the remaining yolk on her plate with her last bite of toast.
McVie looked at her.
“My father,” she said. “Sticking his nose in. Didn’t even get my mother’s painting, which is why I went up there in the first place.”
McVie nodded.
The server came over to refill their coffee and Fenway asked for the check.
She felt like the moment when she could ask him to spend the night would slip from her grasp if she didn’t do it soon. She could read his face and saw him planning his next steps for trying to get Rachel back. At least he was on her side.
“How long do you need with HR?” she asked.
“They get in at eight. I should have everything I need by half-past. Maybe a little later.”
“So I’ve got to keep Natalie busy for an hour?”
“It’s not like she’s going to rush over to HR. Probably not, anyway. I just want you to be there to make sure she doesn’t. I’m on leave, I shouldn’t be there anyway.”
Fenway looked at Craig across the table.
“How are you doing, Craig? On leave, I mean. You okay?”
McVie chuckled. “I’m keeping busy. I’ve had to deal with a corpse in a trunk in front of my house. It’s been a crazy—” And suddenly, a painful look came over his face. He looked away.
Fenway wanted to comfort him, to leave her side of the table and slide into the booth next to him. She wanted to take him in her arms. Like she wanted him to comfort her after Stotsky attacked her in her apartment two months before.
For a fleeting moment, Fenway pictured herself doing that, wrapping her arms around Craig, feeling him sigh, exhaling the pain and breathing in her scent, her perfume, her comfort. She pictured herself taking his hand in hers and letting him lean against her. Leading him out of the restaurant, going back to his motel room, turning off her phone, turning off his phone, getting into the queen bed with him, hooking her leg over his under the covers and pulling herself on top like she did in his car, feeling his lips on her collarbone and her neck, feeling his fingers and hands run over her body, letting his worry and pain run off him and onto her.
She shuddered.
“Listen,” he said, snapping Fenway back to the present, “I’ve gotta go back to the motel and get a few hours of sleep. I’ve gotta be on my game if I’m going to go through Natalie’s files in a few hours.”
She hoped the disappointment didn’t register too much in her face. “No,” she said, “I suppose you do need to be fresh. I guess I can get a few hours of sleep too.”
McVie caught the server’s eye, and she brought the check.
“I’ll get it,” Fenway said. “You’re on leave.”
“Paid leave,” McVie said. “It’s not a problem.”
Fenway wanted to keep arguing about his expenses going up because of the motel, but then thought better of it.
She felt tension in the car as McVie drove Fenway to her apartment. She wanted to ask him to come upstairs with her, thinking hard about how to make it sound casual, but couldn’t come up with anything. It seemed to take no time at all until they were turning into her apartment complex’s driveway.
“Okay,” McVie said, putting his hand on the gearshift as he stopped in front of her building. “I’ll text you as soon as I’m done with Natalie’s file.”
“Okay,” Fenway said, looking McVie in the eyes, trying to gauge whether to lean forward or play it coy. Finally she put her hand on top of his, on the gearshift. “I’m really glad you took me to the warehouse tonight. I really needed to see Olivia safe. It meant a lot to me.”
“I’m glad I did too,” McVie said. “Let’s kick some ass tomorrow, Fenway.”
She smiled, picked up her purse, and then opened the door and got out of the car.
She walked up the stairs to her apartment and wrapped her arms around herself.