Racing Through Darkness Page 4

  “Stay.” He was back to one word sentences.

  “Then we’re collaborating on this particular endeavor.” Jeez, I spent too much of my time in business meetings with Guillot.

  Mercer escorted me into a back room where maps, photos, and blueprints were plastered to the wall. “The intel we’ve gathered,” he was back to using the royal we, “indicates the girls are being kept inside a modified storage container. The actual location has yet to be determined. The detective was shot here.” He pointed to the wharf where thousands of containers were stacked, awaiting shipping.

  “What about the kidnappers?”

  “Hard to say. They have surveillance to monitor their captives, but there is no way to determine if they are on scene or at a remote location.”

  “Are you sure nothing concrete can be deciphered from any of the communications?”

  He turned with an angry glare, and a chill traveled down my spine. There was no doubt in my mind this man was a trained killer. Even though his résumé claimed private sector negotiations, the distinct impression he was a mercenary was unshakeable.

  Replacing the angry glare with the controlled façade, he responded, “Yes. I am certain.” Soaking up as much information as possible, I needed to get a more thorough retelling from O’Connell.

  “Here’s my card.” I handed him my business card. “If anything changes, call me. If not, I will be back tomorrow morning.”

  “Fine.”

  Inside the confines of my car and speeding away from the rental, I wasn’t sure which was more terrifying, Julian Mercer or the kidnappers.

  * * *

  Entering O’Connell’s hospital room, I was surprised to find Martin and Thompson keeping Jen company. The three men were in a debate over a restaurant or a strip joint. It was hard to say for certain, but Jen wasn’t amused. The conversation came to a crashing halt as I took a seat on the arm of Martin’s chair.

  “Don’t stop on my account,” I said, staring at O’Connell and hoping he’d do something to clear the room. Thompson was giving me his best annoyed look.

  “Oh, please,” Jen rolled her eyes and stood up, “a break from the nonstop frivolity is exactly what I need.”

  I nudged Martin with my arm. “Stop being frivolous. You’re driving everyone crazy.” Jen laughed and a snort escaped. My gaze was on O’Connell, determined to convey the need for privacy, but she took the lead.

  “Would you mind coming out to the car and lugging in some of Nick’s crap?” she asked Thompson. “I meant to grab it earlier, and then with the three of you going on like hyenas, I was afraid to leave you guys alone.” Thompson couldn’t refuse his partner’s wife, but he was irritated. He begrudgingly followed her out of the room.

  Martin glanced at the two of us and said, “I’ll just step outside and keep a lookout.”

  “You told him.” Nick didn’t sound surprised.

  “Nothing detailed.” As soon as Martin shut the door, I began telling Nick what happened with Mercer. “He’s a scary son-of-a-bitch,” I concluded. “Are you sure everything’s on the level.”

  “He’s not that bad. He probably just doesn’t like you. What are you thinking of doing?”

  “If your sister can’t pay, then locate, infiltrate, retrieve, and hope to get out before they realize something’s amiss. What were you and Mercer planning to achieve?”

  “Same game plan, well, almost.” I watched him closely. “There’s no way to be positive, but letting the Four Seasons continue to breathe didn’t seem to be on Mercer’s to-do list.”

  “My guess, he’s a merc.” O’Connell shrugged but didn’t disagree with my assessment. “Maybe the Estes family figured they’d pay the money, then Mercer goes in and cleans house. They get their savings back, and he gets a finder’s fee.”

  “Hate to tell you, but I have no problem with putting these fuckers in the ground.”

  “Hey, I’m not your enemy,” I reminded him. “And I didn’t say I had a problem with that scenario either, but Mercer’s dangerous. Going into the unknown without any intel and one crazy bastard won’t end well. I need back-up. He said his team is on their way, but more like him isn’t tipping the odds in favor of Catherine’s safe recovery.”

  “No federal agents,” O’Connell barked. He was on edge, and I couldn’t blame him.

  “What about Thompson or Heathcliff then? They’re your friends. Your partners. Heathcliff can play a very convincing non-cop. I’ve seen him do it.”

  “It’s Catherine’s life we’re gambling.” He was livid. “And it’s their livelihoods. You promised not to say a word. Don’t make me regret this, Parker.”

  “What the hell do you want me to do? You tie my hands, but you still expect me to be a fucking miracle worker. I’m doing everything I can think of, but I am not enough.”

  “You have to be, or I’ll get out of this goddamn bed and help you myself.”

  “Dammit,” I slapped the wall, “stay put.” Resting my head in my hands, I tried to think things through, but I was coming up blank. “Give me your sister’s information and let her know I’m on my way. Maybe she has some information or theories on who the hostage takers might be. I need to start at the beginning to find another solution.” He rattled off her address and phone number.

  “Don’t make this harder on Evelyn,” he warned, “but I’ll let her know you’re coming. Kid gloves, okay?”

  “All right.” My hand rested on the doorknob. “I promise I’ll do everything humanly possible to get Catherine back, but it might require a judgment call.”

  “Just make sure you think through the consequences before taking a leap.”

  Six

  Evelyn and Peter Cale were distraught. Their only child was taken from them, and they were stuck in limbo. It was the perfect exemplification of Schrödinger’s cat. Until Catherine was returned, both hope and grief simultaneously existed. Unlike the cat in the scenario, I hoped to find Catherine alive and well, but there was no way of knowing until someone opened the box.

  “Nicky’s talked about you before,” Evelyn sniffled. “He would hate for me to tell you this, but he said he’s never seen anyone do this job better.” She burst into tears, and Peter held her against his chest.

  “Get our baby back, please,” he begged.

  After getting as much information on the last known whereabouts of Catherine Cale, the other two girls she was with at the time of the abduction, the school’s address, field trip information, and anything else I could think of, I promised to do my best and went to my car. If Catherine wasn’t recovered alive, Nick would never forgive me, which was fair since I wouldn’t forgive myself, but I needed proper credentials to get the surveillance footage, access to question some witnesses, and financials on the other two victims’ families. My OIO badge had been relinquished during my resignation, and if I couldn’t ask for official help, then the rules would just have to be bent.

  “Martin,” I had him on speaker while I meandered through the streets, trying to find my way to Catherine’s school, “get O’Connell’s badge and bring it to me.”

  “Why?”

  “Figure out a way to ask for it, and once you have it, call me back.” I disconnected before he could ask any more questions. Impersonating a police officer was a crime but a victimless one in this situation.

  Ten minutes later, my phone rang. “I have it.”

  “Good.” I gave him the address of a café a block from the school and waited for him to arrive. The familiar town car pulled up, and before Martin could get out, I got in.

  “Want me to come with you? We could pretend to be Cagney and Hutch or Starsky and Lacey.” His attempt at being helpful brought a small smile to my face.

  “Thanks, but I’ll take it from here.” Grabbing O’Connell’s badge, I hung it from my belt. “Do you think I can pass for a first grade detective?”

  “Cops are rarely as sexy as you, unless they’re on television or strippers, so probably not.”

  “Than
ks for the vote of confidence. If I get arrested, my one phone call won’t be to you.”

  “What a shame. I would orchestrate a brilliant jailbreak.”

  “You’re just being this annoying because we’re not at the beach, right?” I teased.

  “String bikini.” He smirked, and I got out of his car and headed toward mine.

  It was Sunday, but a few of the janitorial staff were hard at work. After flashing my borrowed badge and insisting to speak with someone from the administration immediately, they phoned the headmaster. The school fell for my cover story hook, line, and sinker. After copying all the digital security cam footage from the two weeks prior to the abduction, I printed out a roster of faculty personnel. I lost track of how many laws I was breaking, or rather the school was for giving out personal information to some schlub off the street, but the fear of culpability or negligence in a criminal investigation was too much for the weak-stomached administrator to bear. Of course, embellishment was a useful tool, and without ever saying what the precise situation was, mortal peril and million dollar lawsuits were implied.

  Gathering as much information as possible, I detoured to the science museum. It was the alleged scene of the abduction. There was one glaringly obvious blip on my radar. Why didn’t anyone from the school notice three seven year old girls missing? From what I remembered of my formative years, field trips involved being ushered around in groups by teachers or parents and headcounts were taken constantly. Maybe years of seeing the worst made me a pessimist, but gut instinct said someone on the inside was involved, if not responsible.

  My questioning of museum personnel led to the office of the museum director. He was giving a lecture to a tour group, so I was asked to wait. In the interim, I snooped through his desk. There were dozens of brochures for upcoming exhibits, some order forms, a calendar, a ring of keys, and random knickknacks.

  “Can I help you?” a man asked, and I jumped away from the desk. Smooth, Parker. Real smooth. “Miss?”

  “Detective,” I corrected, “Heathcliff.” It was my best bet since he was working a case, and if anyone wanted to call the precinct, they could verify a Detective Heathcliff was on the job.

  “Detective.” The man cocked his head to the side. “Don’t you need a warrant to conduct a search?”

  “Sorry,” I mumbled, but his tone wasn’t berating. “I get antsy when I wait.”

  “My apologies, then.” He walked around the room and took a seat behind the desk. “Did your partner forget something earlier?”

  “Partner?” What the hell was he talking about?

  “The detective who was here earlier today. He said he was looking into a burglary ring. Isn’t that why you’re here?” Acting as if I was in the know, I let out a good-natured laugh.

  “Actually, there was an emergency he was called away on, so they sent me to go over everything he got, again. It’s clearly an inconvenience, but your help would be most beneficial.” I offered a conciliatory smile. The gnawing in my brain suspected Mercer had been here to gather as much intel as possible. The sneaky bastard.

  “Not a problem. Have a seat. It should just take a moment while I pull up the files. Is a digital copy okay? Or do you need printouts?” He smiled.

  Reading the nameplate on the desk, I tried to look demure. “Digital is fine, Mr. Tolbert.”

  “You can call me Jeremy.”

  Plying Jeremy for further details on the ‘detective’ from earlier led nowhere. He gave the man access to surveillance cameras due to the strongly held belief that it was to safeguard his museum from being the target of a crime. I didn’t have the heart to tell him it was already the scene of a triple child abduction; plus, publicizing this fact wouldn’t turn out well for anyone. It was a deep dark secret that only a small group of people were privy to, and I hated to be one of them.

  Escaping Director Tolbert’s office with the digital files and my clothes still on, I wanted nothing more than to go to the precinct, grab a hold of the real Detective Heathcliff, and get him to run through all the surveillance footage from the last two weeks from both the school and the museum, but O’Connell made me promise. The thought of using OIO resources was equally appealing, but Mark thought I was at the beach. If I showed up now, he’d be even more suspicious.

  “Do you still want to play a cop?” I asked Martin, once he answered the phone.

  There was never a situation where I wanted him involved in my line of work. He was a corporate bigwig. He paid people to handle problems. Hell, he paid me to handle this type of problem for him, but the grunt work wasn’t dangerous. Unless we were somehow transported to a fictitious world where seeing a videotape could result in death in seven days, asking him to stare at surveillance footage wouldn’t implicate him in anything or lead to gunmen chasing him down.

  “Mmm,” his voice was throaty, “does that include a sexy uniform and handcuffs?” His imagination was heading straight for the gutter, so I was surprised when his tone shifted. “Wait,” he was giddy, “can you repeat that after I hit voice record?”

  “It’s not for me. It’s for O’Connell, and I blame him.” Pausing, a brilliant thought struck. “Actually, how long do you think it would take to get a few monitors and DVD players set up in his hospital room?”

  “I just got benched, didn’t I?” He sounded dejected. “The man was shot and is busy recovering. Maybe you should let him rest.”

  Typically, I would agree, but O’Connell was going stir crazy. This was his case and his niece, and he needed to be involved, even if it was just by calling plays from the sidelines. Stopping to pick up my spare laptop, I went back to the hospital and brought O’Connell the museum feed. Thompson was still there while Jen ran an errand.

  “Since you’re laid up, I thought I’d bring you something to work on.” If Thompson was ever going to have a blond moment, now would be the time. “I have two weeks’ worth of surveillance footage, and I can’t determine if anyone out of the ordinary pops up. Maybe someone’s casing the joint. It’s a museum thing.”

  “Thanks.” The mattress flexed into the shape of a chair, and I pushed the bedside table over and put my laptop in front of Nick. “I’m bored out of my mind.”

  Thompson continued glaring at this exchange from his seat. “Parker, outside,” he barked, heading for the door. “I’ll be right back, man.”

  “Someone’s in trouble,” Nick mocked. “And he hasn’t said more than a handful of words to me all day.”

  “Well, if your partner won’t let you watch his back, then what kind of relationship do you really have?” My response was pointed as I went after Thompson.

  In the hallway, he leaned against the opposite wall, waiting. Thompson and I had a somewhat tenuous relationship. He was a good cop, but we never worked extensively together. I’d worked with O’Connell and Heathcliff, and both adored me. But Thompson had always been more on the outside looking in. Maybe I’d stepped on his toes, invaded his territory, or just been like a bratty little sister who stole his toys and wouldn’t give them back.

  “What the hell happened?” he asked.

  “O’Connell still won’t tell you?” I pretended to be shocked.

  “Parker,” my name sounded like a hiss, “the official word is it was a random shooting, but I don’t buy it. O’Connell swears he was just out for a jog, and the next thing he knows, he’s on the ground. But why would he be jogging in a vest?”

  “He was wearing a vest?”

  “Damn Teflon casing.” He sighed. “They call them cop killers for a reason. It was from a distance, and the bullet perforated but didn’t penetrate completely. So don’t you dare tell me this was a random event.” He stared daggers, hoping I’d cave. “He has you working on this, doesn’t he?”

  “It’s his call.”

  “I’m his partner.”

  “No shit. That’s what I keep telling him, but he doesn’t want this on the books.” Thompson looked at me like I was stupid. “You have a badge and ethical guidelines to
follow.”

  “Fuck ethics, this is Nick we’re talking about.”

  “Fine, you want to help,” I checked the hallway before continuing, “get everything you can on the bullet. If it’s unique or can be traced to a gun, I’d love to hear about it.”

  “Tell me what this is about.”

  “Look, when the time comes, if an arrest is to be made, it’s yours.”

  He let out a derisive scoff. “You think this is about a collar?”

  “No, but do what you can. You have my number. In the meantime, go easy on him. Whether you realize it or not, he needs your support, even if it doesn’t seem like it.” I strode down the hall without another word.

  In another life, I must have been a marriage counselor. O’Connell had surveillance from the museum to work on, and I would run backgrounds on every school employee and analyze the security footage. The clock was ticking, and Mercer was five steps ahead.

  Seven

  “Alex?” It was after midnight. I was exhausted from reviewing the school footage and personnel files for the past nine hours. “Come to bed.” Instead of going home, I went to Martin’s. His computer software and monitors were much more impressive than mine. It helped delay the fatigue to stare at a thirty-six inch screen rather than a thirteen inch screen.

  “Can’t.” I hit pause and flipped through some information. Martin tried to help earlier, but after getting frustrated and throwing him out of the room, he found other things to occupy his time.

  “Do you want to hurl another coffee cup at my head? It might make you feel better,” he teased, taking a seat next to me.

  “It wasn’t a coffee cup. It was a paperweight, and I would have intentionally missed.” Justifying destructive behavior was an innate talent. “Sorry about that.” He chuckled. There hadn’t been any actual flying objects, just the threat if he didn’t leave me alone. “The only thing that will make me feel better is seeing whatever it is I’m missing.”