| |
Josh was able to weave us through the throng of onlookers while avoiding the reporters that circled through the crowd, asking questions. Two blocks away, we stopped in front of a white panel van. Josh opened the passenger door for me. I hopped in and glanced over my shoulder. Through a safety grate, I found Hernandez sitting on a stool in the middle of a bank of electronics.
“Jeez, boys. Did you steal this from the FBI?”
Those dimples peeked at me. “Nope, it belongs to Silverthorne.”
“Can all these electronics help find my sister?”
“You bet your ass they can,” Josh said, climbing into the driver’s seat. “Where to?”
“Did your sister have an iPhone?” Hernandez asked.
“Her phone! Of course, how stupid I’ve been.” I smacked my forehead. “I can use the Track My iPhone app. Cripes. Why didn’t anyone say anything earlier?” I logged into the app and waited. Sure enough, after a few moments, Jilly’s phone number popped up on the map. “There she is!” I got so excited, I bounced in my seat. “Hernandez, you’re brilliant. I could kiss you. It’s not too far away! Go, go! Turn left at the light!” I shouted.
Josh cranked the ignition and the van roared to life.
“Hurry, hurry,” I urged.
“Is the phone on the move?” Hernandez asked.
“Nope, it looks stationary. That’s probably the house they took her to.” The black knot of dread in my stomach flooded with the shine of hope. “Let’s go, hurry up, Josh. You’re driving like an old lady.”
Josh leveled a stern look my way. “It doesn’t do us any good to get pulled over by police, or into an accident. I can’t just run over this guy in front of me.”
Justly chastised, I sat back and bit my lip. My leg bounced nervously, but Josh didn’t say anything further. “At the next intersection, turn left and then stay straight for a bit,” I mustered calmly.
For the next fifteen minutes our silence was only broken by my directions and my own antsy shifting while we waited at the lights and behind traffic. The map led us to a middle-class neighborhood in Ashton Heights. “It’s just up ahead, on the right.”
Josh drew to a halt next to a playground. Half a dozen toddlers and elementary school-aged children squealed and climbed on the jungle gym while their caregivers watched from a bench.
“She should be right around here.” I doublechecked the map. “I don’t get it,” I said, and opening my door, I bounded out, following the dot on my screen.
“Karina, wait! Hernandez, stay with the car.” Josh slammed the van into park and jumped out after me.
“We’re outside. The location should be accurate up to a few meters.” My eyes searched the treed parkland for my sister’s orange blouse as I approached the green dot, stopping when I arrived at the location indicated by my iPhone. I turned in a slow circle, searching the park.
“Found it,” Josh said, about ten meters away.
I strode over to his location. “Do you think she’s here?” I scrutinized the innocent-looking ramblers and cape cods across the street from the park.
“Doubtful. Don’t touch it,” he said, halting my movements. “They probably found it on her and threw it from the car.” First, Josh photographed the phone and surrounding area. Then, pulling on a black rubber glove, he bent down, picked it up, and dropped it in a zippered plastic bag. He pressed the home button and the cracked screen lit up. “Do you know her password?”
I reeled off my parents’ birth months and birth years. The home screen appeared. “Any activity? Maybe she tried to send us a text or something.”
Josh scrolled around, but eventually shook his head in the negative. “I don’t see any sort of movement on her apps since before the time of the abduction.”
A feeling of panic crept over me. “I think we should look around. Check that building over there.” It started as a fast walk and soon turned into a dead run, as if something drove me to the gray and white building that housed bathrooms and a water fountain.
“Karina?”
Ignoring Josh’s calls, I burst into the women’s bathroom, startling a mother and young son as they washed their hands.
“Jillian!” I yelled.
The woman hustled her toddler out the door as I checked each of the four stalls. Nothing. I spun around one more time before leaving. Josh exited the men’s room the same time I came out of the ladies’.
“Anything?”
He shook his head.
“Nothing?” I said with desperation.
“Karina, I don’t think she’s here. It looks like they chucked her phone out the window.”
“Well, what about street cameras? Does Hernandez have access? Maybe we can follow the trail.”
Hernandez had gotten into the driver’s seat after Josh abandoned it, and the van pulled up to the curb where we stood. “You find anything?” he asked through the open window.
“No. Just the phone,” Josh replied. “Did the boys at HQ get us hooked into the street cams?”
“They’re in.”
“Can they check this area?” he asked.
Hernandez shook his head. “There aren’t any in this residential section. The closest ones are on Pershing and Wilson Boulevard.”
“Dead end,” I murmured, subdued. I had been so sure that we would find my sister before the police, FBI, and everyone else.
Josh’s arm came across my shoulders.
“Don’t lose hope, pequeña ave. We’re just getting started. Come on, now, hop in,” Hernandez said in a reassuring voice.
Resigned, I climbed into the passenger seat. Hernandez returned to his electronics in the back and Josh reclaimed the driver’s seat.
“Now what do we do?” I asked.
“Rick wants to meet up and discuss strategy,” Hernandez responded.
Twenty minutes later, we arrived at a fast-food parking lot and pulled alongside a black muscle car that must have dated back to the ’70s. A cobra and the numbers 429 were displayed on the quarter panel behind the front wheel. The black paint was so polished and shiny that I imagined I would be able to see my reflection. Rick wore black slacks and a black button-down with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, appearing as tough as the car he leaned against. Josh shut off the engine, and Rick opened the van door on my side.
“She wasn’t there,” I choked out. The drive over did nothing for my psyche, as I silently flayed myself over and over for my inability to save my sister when I had the chance.
“I know.” He placed a black cowboy-booted foot on the running board. “We’re working on it.” He looked over my shoulder. “Hernandez, what have you got?”
Hernandez removed his headphones. “FBI is on scene now, working with the Arlington gang unit. I’ve reached out to my informant. He’s got his ear to the ground, but he hasn’t reported back yet.”
“When do you expect to hear from him?” Rick inquired.
“He’s a burglar and a drug addict—always looking for his next fix. If he can get money without having to steal it, he will. I imagine he’ll get back to me as soon as he hears something or his latest fix wears off,” Hernandez answered.
“Is he reliable?” Josh shifted to see his buddy in back.
“I’d say ninety-five percent of the time the intel is good,” Hernandez said, then returned his attention to the monitor.
I scrunched my nose. “Really? A junkie burglar is reliable?”
Hernandez answered while continuing to type, “Yup. Burglars have got their ears to the ground. They know who shot whom and why, who jacked a car and where it got left, and who’s passing around dirty drugs. He’s quick on his feet, blends in, and as a junkie, tends to live in the shadows.”
“Wow. I had no idea,” I murmured.
“By the way,” Rick said to me, “your jeweler is on the move with Jin tailing him. Jin’s working with a D.C. detective from major crimes to make the bust.”
“Do you think Tazim is going to sell the diamonds now?” I asked.
“Time is running out to pay his bill. He’s already had a taste of what they’ll do. I don’t imagine he wants to test them.” Rick’s unusual gray eyes were as hard as slate.
“If they catch him, then Sadira will be released.”
Nobody replied.
Twisting the ring on my middle finger, I continued, “I need to see her before they let her loose. I think she may have information. She’s got to have something that can help us. Can someone take me?” My neck rotated back and forth as I waited for Rick or Josh to volunteer. “Or I can call an Uber, if you prefer.”
“I’ll take you.” Rick’s granite gaze focused past me on Hernandez as he spoke, “Why don’t you and Joshua go in and get us all something to eat before we leave?”
I flinched at the thought of putting something in my stomach. “I’m not hungry.”
“C’mon, Karina,” Josh said, opening his door, “it may be a long night, and you never know when we’ll get a chance to eat. Any special requests?”
“Burger, fries, Coke and a chocolate shake,” Hernandez reeled off.
“Burger and a coffee.” Rick stepped back and helped me out of the van.
I slung my purse over my shoulder and led Josh into the busy restaurant. “What’s Rick talking to Hernandez about?”
“What do you mean?”
I slid him a slit-eyed glower. “Josh, the one thing you’ve never done is treat me like a fool. Please don’t start now.”
“It’s nothing.”
“Then tell me.”
“You don’t want to know.”
“Of course, I do.”
He cleared his throat and said softly, “They’re discussing the likelihood of finding her alive.”
The glowing menu wavered in front of me. “I need to go to the bathroom.”
“What do you want to eat?”
“Nothing. Anything. You pick,” I mumbled, stumbling out of line, past a handful of patrons. After locking myself in a stall, my stomach debated whether or not I needed to vomit. The moment passed, and I sat down on the toilet instead. Rubbing my temples, I rocked back and forth, humming quietly while drawing deep breaths and counting the black and gray floor tiles. Keep it together, keep it together. I had no doubt, if I lost my shit, Rick would pack me off and stash me in some sort of safe house until this was all over, just so he wouldn’t have to manage a hysterical female on top of everything else.
My phone rang, and I fumbled, pulling it out of my purse. Rodrigo, grinning and holding up the peace sign, stared back at me. I tapped ignore. Twenty seconds later a text came across.
Are you okay?
Fine.
Are you coming to happy hour?
Don’t think I’ll make it. Friend in need. Drink one for me.
Ok. Let me know if there is anything I can do.
If only there was something he could do. Jessica’s voicemail message blinked at me, but I couldn’t face it. I washed my hands, splashed some water on my face, and rejoined the group back at the van.
Someone had opened the side door, and Hernandez was accepting a fast-food bag passed to him by Josh. He saw me and asked, “Everything all right, pequeña ave?”
“Fine.” I produced a wan smile, absentmindedly accepting my bag of food and soda.
“Josh and Hernandez are following a couple of leads while we visit Sadira,” Rick stated.
I nodded. “Do you have one of those earbud thingies for me, so I can stay in the loop?”
Hernandez gave Rick the side-eye.
Rick didn’t blink. “I’m afraid we don’t have any more on hand. I’ll try to arrange one for you.”
“Sure.” Somehow, I doubted I’d be seeing an earbud any time soon as Rick probably wanted the coms to stay private between them. I took my food and climbed into his passenger seat while the boys finished their pow-wow.
The leather bucket seat squeaked as I shifted around and checked out the old-fashioned dashboard with the original radio. The French fry I chewed held no flavor, and I had trouble forcing the bite down my throat. Giving up, I placed the bag at my feet. The diet soda wasn’t much better. I might as well have been drinking battery acid. The classic car didn’t have the convenience of modern day cupholders, so I placed the drink between my legs. Restless and edgy, I drummed my fingers against my thigh. The big silver glovebox button caught my eye. It dropped down to reveal some papers and a compact, semiautomatic Ruger. Fairly certain it was the same pistol Rick had offered to me a few months ago after Rivkin had broken into my home, I closed the compartment with a gentle click.
Doors slammed, Rick got in, and the van rolled away.
“I pictured you as a pickup truck type of guy,” I commented.
“It’s back at the house,” he told me, then sipped his fast-food black coffee and placed it between his legs.
“Do you have a house? I thought you lived in a cave—with Alfred.”
That comment received a single raised brow and the dry response, “I live in a loft-style apartment.” The car rumbled to life and we rolled out of the parking lot.
“What kind of car is this?”
“Ford Torino four-twenty-nine Cobra Jet.”
“That’s kind of a mouthful. I’m assuming four-twenty-nine means a lot of horsepower,” I babbled, trying to divert my thoughts from ‘the bad place.’ “What year is it?”
“Three-hundred-eighty horses, and it’s a 1970.” Traffic opened, Rick accelerated, and we rumbled down the road like an angry tiger, sucking gas as we went.
“Did you refurbish it? Or did you buy it this way?”
“It was my father’s. He kept it garaged and in good shape.”
“Ah, and he passed it along to you. Has he ever asked for it back?”
“He passed away ten years ago. Cancer.”
I glanced at his stone-faced profile. Rick had never revealed personal information to me in the past, always speaking en pointe, in economical sentences. “I’m sorry to hear that. I’m sure you miss him.”
“He was a bastard,” he answered without emotion.
I could think of no suitable response. Checking out the rest of the vehicle, I found a black coat and tie in the back seat. I’d never seen Rick wear anything more formal than jeans or cargo pants. “What’s with the coat and tie? Did you have court today?”
“Funeral.”
I inhaled sharply. “That explains the black. Sorry for your loss. Who was it? Family? Friend?”
“Friend. We used to work together.”
“In Afghanistan?”
He nodded.
“I’m sorry to drag you away from it. Couldn’t Josh and Hernandez head up the team without you?”
Rick took a beat before responding. “Cardinal . . . Karina—” His voice noticeably softened. “—your sister’s kidnapping . . .” He paused. His jaw flexed, and, for the first time since I’ve ever known him, he seemed to struggle in answering me. “When one of my clients is involved in an abduction, you can bet your ass I’m going to run point,” he snapped.
“I see. Then I’m thankful to be one of your clients. But, if what you say is true, why aren’t you back at the office running ops from the computer room? Why are you here? It seems obvious that you’ve taken on babysitting duty. I feel certain you think visiting Sadira is a waste of time.” I don’t know why I baited him in that snarky tone. Possibly, it was my pique at not getting an earbud. Or, maybe, I was so out of my mind with worry, I wasn’t thinking properly. Or maybe I wanted to know what he had been about to say before he fell back on the obligation to his clients.
The car rolled to a stop behind a line of traffic sitting at a red light. Rick rotated to face me. “Three things. First, I don’t believe anything that might help find your sister is a waste of time. Second, you have good instincts. Though, I’d argue, your impulsivity doesn’t make the best decisions, they have led you to the right conclusions. Even if trouble lies around the corners of those conclusions. Finally—” He drew a breath. “—finally, it is my duty to make sure you’re safe. Josh told the police Silverthorne would protect you, and I will do so to the utmost of my capability.” The light had turned green and a blaring honk had Rick putting his foot down. The car roared forward. “I let you down once. I won’t do it again,” he spoke the last so quietly I barely heard it over the car’s thundering engine, and I wondered if I’d heard correctly.
I sat in silence, chewing over that comment, searching my mind for a time when Rick or his boys had ever let me down. I couldn’t think of one. In reality, they’d provided intel, operational support, and saved my hide on more occasions than I’d like to admit. “You’ve never let me down.”
“Remember how your shoulder was dislocated?” Rick stared ahead at the road.
“Yes. I also remember you saved my life. If it hadn’t been for you, I wouldn’t have gone to the hospital. I would’ve gone to the morgue.”
“I should’ve cleared the stairwell. He never should have been waiting for you.”
“You take too much on yourself. We can’t predict the future. You couldn’t have known. And we won’t discuss it further,” I stated with finality. The last thing I wanted was for Rick to feel that he “owed” me. If anything, I owed him. “I’m sorry you had to leave your friend’s funeral early,” I said softly.
“Don’t worry. The funeral was over. I left the wake.”
As we headed toward the county jail, a thought occurred to me. “Rick—can you pick a lock?”
“Yes.”
“How are your safe-cracking abilities?”
“Depends on the type of safe, I’ve only done it once. It’s not a skill I put on the resume. Where are you going with this?” He glanced at me.
“I’d like to stop at Sadira’s apartment on the way over.”
“Why? What are you looking for?”
“Leverage.”