| |
Bryce didn’t think he’d been this nervous since his first op for the Rangers. Why? Because despite there being dozens of logical, harmless reasons why Cecily wasn’t answering her phone, his gut said something was wrong. He was about to let the receptionist know he was leaving, that Andy could call him with the information—assuming the detective was pulling strings with the phone company and not stringing Bryce along—when Andy came through the door.
The grim expression on his face had Bryce jumping to his feet. “What did you find?”
“First, her phone hasn’t moved in the last two hours. It’s in the vicinity of an art and museum complex in the downtown Colorado Springs area.”
His mind raced. That didn’t sound so foreboding. It made sense, sort of. A museum might have a Silence Your Cell Phone rule. Not that he thought Cecily was big on art museums, but she tended to suggest things he enjoyed when they were together. Maybe she had a more ... upscale ... side, one she thought would bore him. Once this was over, he’d make an effort to do things Cecily wanted. She shouldn’t be changing who she was for him.
Mental head slap. Wasn’t that why they fought all the time? Because he wanted her to see things his way as much as she wanted him to accept her point of view?
“I’ll be honest with you, Bryce.”
Andy’s voice snapped Bryce back to reality. He met the man’s gaze.
Andy jerked his head toward the door. “I ran a quick check and got you clearance to come through.” He gave a crooked smile. “You won’t touch anything, right?”
Bryce shoved his hands in his pockets. “Not a thing.”
Bryce followed Andy down a corridor, where he took a sharp left and descended a flight of stairs. Other officers were working phones, computers, or dealing with paperwork. None glanced up as the two men strode through the room to a desk strewn with file folders, notepads, three coffee mugs, and a half-eaten chocolate bar. Andy pulled a chair over for Bryce, then sat and logged into his computer.
“I admit,” Andy said, “if it wasn’t because Cecily is affiliated with the department, I’d have blown you off. Once I saw these pictures, I changed my mind.”
Hearing the words, seeing the concern on Andy’s face, had Bryce’s nerves reacting as though he’d had three cups of high-octane coffee. He watched the monitor as one of the pictures he’d seen at the ranch appeared on the screen.
Andy zoomed in on the center of the image. A hand. Long, slender fingers with long, sharpened nails. Isolated like that, it was hard to tell whether it was male or female, but the chunky rings adorning the fingers had a definite masculine quality.
“You know who this is?” Bryce asked.
“Can’t be positive, but a man—Xiang is the only name we have for him—has been a person of interest in the Springs for some time. Nobody’s ever been able to pin anything on him, but if the scuttlebutt holds, he’s not winning any citizen of the year awards. They say he has a partner. A Latino, goes by Enrique. Everything we’ve been able to find through legitimate channels says he’s independently wealthy and does his part in helping less fortunate youth. He’s painting a picture of himself as a spokesperson for the disadvantaged.”
Like a dark side of Cecily.
“So maybe Grady was one of his rescues,” Bryce said.
“He’d fit the profile, yes. Other rumors say Enrique puts them to work, but not of the legitimate kind. Trouble is, we’ve never been able to get anyone to tie him to anything criminal.” Andy switched to another image, one of the rape scenes. “We can’t put Enrique in this picture, but comparing what we have from the images with Xiang in them, Xiang is definitely participating in this confrontation. According to my contacts at the Springs PD, there was one report of a gang rape recently, but the caller was anonymous and refused to follow up. These pictures are the first real lead they have. I’ve sent them along.” He paused. “It’s the dates that don’t make sense. If these were taken when the phone says they were, it should be bright and sunny, middle of a very nice day.”
Bryce had to hand it to Andy. The man had gone deep. “We talked about that,” Bryce said. “When we found the phone, the battery had been removed. There was no contact list, no call history.”
“Sounds like whoever used this phone knew how to make things hard on us.” Andy gave another crooked grin. “But we’re better than they are.”
“Could you find out who bought the phone?” Bryce asked.
“We’re on it, but if Enrique and Xiang were smart—in the evil criminal way—they’d have bought a bunch of them at once and paid cash. Odds are they didn’t personally buy them, but sent someone else to do it. Then, they change the dates and times, hand out the phones to their crew, with strict instructions about using them.”
Bryce stood. “I need to get down there. If all this is true—” he swept his arm toward the screen— “Cecily could be in the middle of it. Her search for Grady could have put her on these scumbags’ radar, and she might be walking into big trouble.”
Which, knowing Cecily, was more like her than spending the afternoon looking at art.
“I’ll get a Springs PD officer to check out the museum parking lot for her car. He can be there before you can. If the car’s there, he can check the museum as well.”
“Appreciate it.” Bryce extended his hand.
Andy returned the handshake. “Give me your cell number, and I’ll relay that, too.” Andy handed him a pen and paper.
Bryce scribbled down the number. “Restroom?”
Andy pointed him in the right direction. “I’ll make sure there are eyes out for Cecily. I hope you find her looking at pictures in the museum.”
“So do I.” Bryce turned toward the restroom.
“Bryce,” Andy called after him.
“Yes?”
“She needs someone like you. Good luck.”
Bryce wasn’t sure whether Andy was referring to Bryce’s rescue attempt, or if he’d removed himself from any claim on Cecily. Either one would be fine with him. “Thanks.”
When Bryce finished in the men’s room, Andy had the phone hooked between his shoulder and chin, busy at his computer. Since Andy hadn’t mentioned needing an escort out of the building, Bryce jogged up the stairs and out through the lobby, giving the receptionist a quick fingers to the brim of his Stetson goodbye.
He was halfway down the mountain when his cell chimed. How many times had he cursed drivers trying to navigate the hairpins while talking on their phones? His next vehicle would have a handsfree Bluetooth option. If this was about Cecily, he wasn’t going to wait until he got to a pullout. He took the call and hit the speaker icon.
“Bryce Barrett.”
“It’s Andy. Update. Cecily’s car is in the museum parking lot. Her phone’s in the vehicle, plugged into the charger.”
Bryce’s nerves slammed into overdrive. He’d never known her to leave her phone behind, but if she’d put it in the charger, he could understand she’d forgotten it in her haste to do whatever she was doing. It was the whatever she was doing that had him going crazy.
Andy went on. “Nobody in the museum remembers seeing her. Doesn’t mean she wasn’t there. We’ve got officers doing a routine canvass. Lots of places to shop in the vicinity.”
Now, shopping—that Bryce could see Cecily doing. But it was still low on his list.
“Thanks, man. Keep me updated.”
Bryce disconnected, fighting the tension as he took the downtown exit and followed his GPS to the museum parking lot. Cecily’s car was one of only three in the lot. He drove around a few blocks, scoping out the area. Lots of girly boutiques, a few eateries, all closed. Made sense, as the main draw to the area was the museum complex, which was closed. He wondered whether the cops had already hit this neighborhood, so he pulled into a small parking lot between two of the stores and called Andy.
“Good timing,” the detective said. “Turns out a café owner called the cops after a woman had her purse snatched by some rowdies. The owner didn’t see it happen, but there was a witness who talked to one of the officers.”
Bryce’s heart whacked his ribcage on its way to his throat. “Cecily?”
“Yes.”
“What was the café?” Bryce asked, already scanning the street for a likely candidate.
“Delights From India,” Andy said. “But they’re closed.”
“I know. Get me the number of the owner.” Bryce backed out of the lot, seeking the café. When he spotted it two doors down, he parked, jumped out of his pickup, and jogged over. Closed didn’t have to mean there was nobody there, right? It wasn’t that late. People cleaning up, prepping for the next day, doing the books? A light inside had him pounding on the door.
A Colorado Springs officer peered through the window. Bryce held his driver’s license up to the door, in case Andy had mentioned he’d be coming by. The officer opened the door, properly wary, a hand near his sidearm.
“The café is closed,” he said. Somehow, his round-cheeked, baby face contradicted the firm tone he was using. Bryce bet his colleagues called him Officer Friendly.
“I understand,” Bryce said. “A ... good friend ... of mine witnessed the crime you’re talking about, and she’s gone missing. I’m trying to retrace her steps. Deputy Markham in Pinon Crest should vouch for me.”
The officer gave a brusque nod and pulled out his phone. Bryce fingered his ponytail, but knew better than to show anything other than polite cooperation.
The officer finished his call and opened the door enough to admit Bryce. “Come in, Mr. Barrett. Wait here—” he motioned to the nearest table— “while I finish talking to Mrs. Gupta.”
Waiting. That’s all he’d been doing. He should have asked Derek, Frank, and Tim to come with him. Of course, they still didn’t know where Cecily was, but if they found out, the four of them could rescue her before the cops got a team together.
Officer Friendly—R. Hillman, according to his name badge—thanked Mrs. Gupta and motioned Bryce to follow him outside.
“Did you find her?” Bryce asked.
“Not yet, but we have a lead. I need you to let us follow through, because this might give us what we need to break open a street gang.”
“Deputy Markham mentioned it,” Bryce said. His frustration grew, because the cops were going to have meetings, form committees, task forces—you name it. They were looking at the overall picture. Bryce needed one little piece. Cecily. Damn it, he’d find her himself.
Bryce sat in his pickup, keeping an eye on Hillman’s cruiser. The cop wasn’t moving. A glow from inside the vehicle said he was working on his computer. Bryce reflected on his hesitation when he’d mentioned Cecily to Hillman. Not sure of what to call her? Why was it so hard for him to say girlfriend? Or was that something they’d both have to agree on?
Bryce’s cell rang. Still watching Hillman, he glanced at the display, hoping he’d see Cecily’s name. Damn, he was going to give the woman her own ringtone. Didn’t that go along with girlfriend?
Derek’s name on the display. Almost as good.
“You hear anything?” Bryce asked.
“As a matter of fact, yes,” Derek said. “What’s your twenty?”
Bryce gave him the address, but added, “I’m keeping an eye on a cop, so I might be moving soon.” He explained what he’d found out, but Derek cut him off.
“We’re hitting the Interstate,” Derek said. “I talked to Andy, he brought me up to speed, and—” A sigh, a pause, another sigh. “I called Jinx at Blackthorne, and had him monitor the chatter. We’ve got a good lead. I’ll text you a rendezvous point. Wait for us.”
Bryce had no words.
Derek, always good at reading people, even their silences, said, “Hell, man. She’s my kid sister. Nothing’s going to happen to her. I won’t let it.”
Bryce recalled Wendy, the youngest of the Cooper kids, the sister who had died. Derek never forgave himself for her death, although there was absolutely nothing he could have done. “Thanks, D-Man. Who’s we?” he asked, although he had a damn good idea.
“Frank, Tim, and me, of course. Don’t do anything stupid like follow a cop. We’re a team.”
Bryce disconnected, waited for the text, and plugged the address into his GPS. A residential neighborhood, apparently. Nowhere near either Stargate or Memorial Parks. Leaving Hillman to his work, Bryce pulled out and headed for the rendezvous.
Definitely a residential neighborhood. Not upscale, not seedy. When he was a block away, Bryce killed his lights and rolled in slowly. The homes here had garages, leaving plenty of spots to park on the street.
He sat in his truck, taking in the scene. It was dark, and he watched lights go on and off in a number of the homes. Some flickering where people were watching television. Some lights were steady, a few houses were full dark. Was one of those their target?
Minutes later, another vehicle approached in stealth mode. Derek’s Honda SUV. It pulled alongside, passed him, hung a U turn and parked two houses down on the other side of the street. Bryce waited. Derek got out of the Honda, slipped across the street, and reached for Bryce’s passenger door.
Bryce disengaged the lock, and Derek slid onto the seat. A moment later Tim joined them, climbing into the backseat with a small duffle, Frank right behind him.
Derek spoke first. “Chatter says a house on the next block has been for sale, should be empty. A neighbor reported some activity recently, and she described—her words—a suspicious-looking man going in and out. Even gave the cops a car—make, model, and tags.” Derek pulled out his phone.
“Gotta love snoopy neighbors,” Tim said. “Unless, of course, you’re the snoopee.”
“Asian guy? Long fingernails? Lots of rings?” Bryce asked.
“No, she said he looked like a genie,” Derek said. “Andy had described your ring man—”
“Xiang,” Bryce said. “Person of interest down here. General scumwad, but they can’t pin anything on him.”
“Right. Anyway, if you’ll let me finish—and when did you start talking so much, anyway? Jinx found a known associate of Xiang’s who matched the neighbor’s description. Not a nice man, and not smart, either. Otherwise he wouldn’t have been spotted.” Derek handed Bryce his phone with a picture of someone who resembled a cartoon genie.
“We like the not smart ones,” Tim said. “Easier to catch.”
“Well, he might have led us here, but his other associate, Enrique, is bad-guy smart. We need to surveil the place, see if Cecily and or Grady are there, and extract them.”
“Piece of cake,” Tim said.
“You armed?” Derek asked.
Bryce displayed his pistol, cocked his head to the shotgun in the rack.
“We don’t want to make a lot of noise,” Derek said, “but it’s always wise to be prepared.”
Tim unzipped the duffle and handed Bryce several pairs of flex cuffs. “Not as much fun as shooting, but like D-Man said, quiet is smarter in a neighborhood like this.”
“The cops are organizing,” Derek continued. “What do you say we have this all wrapped up with a bow before they get here.” He passed out radios. “Channel three.” Bryce set his, and adjusted an earwig.
“Radio check,” Frank said.
Once everyone had confirmed they read him five-by-five—loud and clear—Frank opened his door. He looped a pair of night vision goggles around his neck. “Speaking of surveillance, I’m on my way. Do not engage without orders.”
Bryce glanced at Derek, who understood the unasked who’s in charge? question. “Frank’s on point.” They’d worked together on dozens of ops, faced countless forms of danger. Killed when they had to, avoided being killed, sometimes by the slimmest of margins. Rescued targets. Tonight, it was about family. Derek was theirs, which made Cecily just as important.
Silence filled the pickup. Normally, Bryce welcomed such moments, but tonight, the empty air squeezed around him, sucking the air from his lungs. “Mountain lion?” he said in a coarse whisper.
Tim, who usually had a joke for everything, merely said, “No longer a problem.”
Frank’s voice crackled through the radio. “Intel was good. Enter through the rear.”
“Let’s do it,” Derek said. “Drive down two blocks.”
Bryce’s heart rate spiked. He started the truck.