Cache a Predator (12 page)

While Nikki jumped, Justin knelt in front of the box. “Hey, what’s this? Look what I found.”

Nikki knelt next to him. Justin met her eyes. He held a tiny square box. Slowly, he flipped it open. Inside sparkled a princess-cut diamond ring—her favorite kind. She gasped.

Justin, still on his knees, said, “Nikki, will you marry me?”

“What?” Her hand covered her mouth. “Was that in the cache box?”

He chuckled. “No, I haven’t opened the cache box yet. This is the box I brought. Do you really think someone would put something this valuable in a metal box for anyone to find?”

Nikki’s heart felt like it would hop out of her chest. “Then this is for real? You’re really, really asking me?” Her voice grew higher with each word.

“I’m really, really asking.”

Nikki took the ring with trembling fingers. Justin slid it on her finger. Tears streamed down her face.

“Well?”

“Well what?”

“Do I have to ask twice? Will you marry me?”

“Yes! Yes!” Nikki stood and stared at the ring in the sunlight, twirling and admiring how it sparkled and lit up her hand. “I can’t believe this. You had it planned all along, didn’t you?”

“I wanted it to be a surprise.”

She threw her arms around him, and they tumbled onto the ground, laughing, with Nikki still squealing. “I love you, you tricky guy, you!”

Justin held her and kissed her tenderly. He wiped her tears with the bottom of his shirt and gave her a totally serious look. “I’m really looking forward to spending the rest of my life with you.”

“Me too, me too.” She smiled.

They stayed that way for a few minutes, wrapped in each other’s arms and looking into each other’s eyes. Nikki didn’t want the moment to end.

Justin said, “Let’s open the cache box and sign in as the future Mr. and Mrs. Justin Prescott. This is history. We’re now an engaged couple!” He pulled Nikki to a sitting position, reached for the box, and then opened it. Inside was a logbook, a plastic bag, a Spiderman sticker, an old six-inch wooden ruler, and a bottle of nail polish that jiggled on the bottom.

“What’s in the Ziploc bag?”

Justin picked it up by the corner, holding it up to examine it. “Ew, I don’t know.” He moved the contents around inside the bag.

“It looks bloody and squishy.” Nikki reached over and pressed her fingers to it. She peeled apart the Ziploc seal and opened the bag. A stench as bad as a spraying skunk filled the air, making them both gag. Nikki screamed and threw the bag down.

Justin pulled his phone from his pocket. He put his nose in the crook of his arm and resealed the bag using just the tips of his fingers. “I think I know what it is. I’m calling the police.”

Nikki pinched her nostrils shut. “Why? What is it?”

“You don’t want to know.”

Chapter Twelve

At 8:50 a.m. Brett drove his cruiser downtown toward the corner of Main and Third—a block from Mark’s house—and pulled into the Kroger parking lot. Mark was supposed to be at work, so Brett thought it might be a good time to check his house for Max. Things didn’t add up, and Brett didn’t want to wait for Clay to talk to Mark.

Brett still trembled, visibly rattled from his discussion with Ali, and called the animal shelter again.

When the girl answered, it sounded like there was a pack of barking dogs in the room.

“This is Officer Reed, just checking back to see if anyone turned in a golden retriever? I called yesterday.”

The girl paused. “Max?”

Brett’s heart raced, hopeful. “Yes.”

“I see the note here, but no goldens have been turned in. I’m sorry.” She promised to call if they found him.

Brett exhaled, feeling hope fade. It wasn’t rational to think that if they found Max Brett would be closer to gaining custody of Quinn, because one had nothing to do with the other, but finding Max would give him hope.

Maybe the dog had followed Mark home. There was one way to find out. He had forty-five minutes before he had to pick up Ali for their appointment. Not much time, but he would get in and get out. It would be worth it if he found Max and could bring him to see Quinn.

Brett could have called Mark and asked him, but ever since the divorce they hadn’t been close. Mark had made it clear that he loathed Brett. He’d been the one to push Ali into filing the protective order.

Just as Brett was about to get out of the car, his phone vibrated. Clay.

Brett answered. “Did you see Mark?”

“No, sorry. He was out of the building at a meeting, but I’ll try back later.”

“Thanks.” Brett got out of his car and headed toward Mark’s house, taking the alley behind his home. Brett was acting impulsively, but sometimes he couldn’t help himself.

“I’ve got an update on the whacker though—two hikers found another dick in a cache box this morning. We think it’s Hunter’s, but it’s too late to sew it back on. It was sent off for DNA testing.”

“Ouch! Where did they find it?” Brett heard paper rustling in the background.

“Under the bridge near the Walking Bearman tree.”

“Didn’t you say the first was found north?” Brett turned down the alley behind Mark’s.

“Yeah. I have a map identifying the site locations. Stop in after you meet with the counselor and pick it up. It looks like we’re going to need a lot more support to cover these cache sites.”

Brett, with his phone to his ear, listened to Clay as he continued his walk toward Mark’s. The summer sun peeked in between the trees and houses along his way. He was glad he’d dressed in his khaki shorts and a short-sleeved shirt instead of his uniform. At least he’d be cooler. “Chief might not want me at the precinct. Maybe you could meet me somewhere. I’ll give you a call after my appointment.”

“Where are you now?”

Brett approached Mark’s backyard from the alley. “Uh … you don’t want to know. I’ll call you later.”

After Brett clipped his phone back onto his belt, he climbed the steps and knocked at the back door. No answer. A row of hedges bordering the property hid the neighbor’s view of Mark’s yard. Perfect. He knocked again, and when no one answered, he turned the knob.

Locked.

He walked down the back porch steps to the side of the house, checking the bathroom window, which was slightly ajar. After taking out his pocket knife, he dug at the corner of the screen and pried it open, then set it next to the house, behind a bush. He pushed the window open and lifted himself into the house headfirst, coming face-to-face with the toilet.

He stood and froze, listening for sounds of life. Nothing.

“Max?”

Nothing.

Tiptoeing, he made his way into the living room, noticing the furniture—not much—a few tables, a futon, and a few tall lamps. It looked the same as the last time he’d been there. No sign of Max or Mark.

He went into the kitchen. A toaster and a coffeepot sat on the counter, dishes lay in the sink. Unopened mail littered the countertop: Netflix, phone bill—nothing out of the ordinary.

Brett hurried into the office and sat down at the desk in front of Mark’s computer.

He tapped the space bar, and the machine began to whir. A leopard appeared as the screen saver. Brett clicked on the browser, and Google appeared. No passwords necessary. Sweet. He clicked on the History bar and then Show All History
.
Everything Mark had recently Googled appeared—mostly Amazon and Facebook pages. He clicked on some of his comments and his friends’ Facebook pages. No secrets there.

Brett continued scrolling. He clicked on yesterday’s date. Lines of geocaching sites appeared. “Whoa! What the heck?” He leaned forward and hurried to click on the first one. It was a YouTube video of a couple on their first hunt. His heart raced. Why would he be researching geo-sites? Brett was certain Mark had never hiked a day in his life. Another site was a recording of a difficult find. All were in this county—Stark County. Brett scoured the desk for a piece of paper and a pen. He jotted down the specific site locations and stuffed the paper in his shorts pocket. He was about to move the cursor to a Word file, when he heard a car door slam outside.
Crap!

He hurried toward the window and looked out. Mark’s truck had pulled into the driveway.
Damn!
What was he going to do now? This had been a really stupid idea. Nothing he could say could get him out of this one. He scanned the room and looked for a place to hide. The only option was the closet. He slipped into it and left the door ajar, and concentrated on keeping his body still and breathing as quietly as possible. He only had fifteen minutes to get to Ali’s. How the hell was he going to get out unseen?

The back door opened, footsteps followed, and then the refrigerator squeaked opened. A minute later, footsteps headed down the hallway.

Peeking through the crack of the closet door, he watched Mark, dressed in a navy suit, pop the top of a Coke, take a swig, and set it on the desk. He plopped into the chair. The back of his balding head stared at Brett. Mark clicked the keys and hesitated. He gulped a few sips of his Coke and paused.

Brett’s phone vibrated.
Shit!

Mark spun around in his chair and faced the closet. “Who’s there?”

Brett decided he had two choices: come out now or come out later. What did it matter? He was caught. He stepped out of the closet and into the room so Mark could see him, holding his arms up in the air. “Hey, bro.”

Mark jumped out of his chair. “Bro, my ass. What the hell are you doing in my closet, in my house?”

“What are you doing home from work?”

“I don’t need to answer that. What’s it to you anyway?”

“I’ll tell you what I’m doing here if you tell me what you were doing in my house yesterday.”

Mark returned to his chair. “You scared the crap out of me.”

“Why are you so jumpy?”

“I’m not used to men jumping out of my closet, okay? Where’s your car?”

“Never mind. Just answer my question.”

Mark looked at Brett and held his gaze. “Ail needed to borrow some money.”

Brett’s stomach turned. “Did you lock Quinn in her bedroom?”

Mark shook his head. “What are you talking about? I didn’t see Quinn when I was there.”

“Why don’t you start from the beginning and tell me what really happened.”

“There’s nothing to tell. I stopped by, Ali was sacked out on the couch, and I figured Quinn was in her room sleeping. End of story.”

“Did you give Ali money?”

Mark’s eyes darted away from Brett’s. “Yeah, she woke up long enough to take it.”

“Did she say what it was for?”

“Day care.”

“How much did you leave her?”

Mark looked away. “About three hundred.”

Was Mark hiding something? “What about Max? Did you see him?”

Mark averted his eyes again, for a few seconds, long enough to drum up a lie. Lying seemed to run in the family. He nodded and scratched his nose. “He was at the house, but when I turned to leave he went psycho, barking and growling at me. I ran out the door to get away from him, but he followed me. The SOB bit my ass. I have the bruise to prove it.” He reached back and rubbed his behind. “I wasn’t about to stick around after that. I don’t know where he went.”

“You asshole.” Brett turned to go, clenching his fists at his side, wanting to beat the truth out of Mark but knowing it was better to keep his temper in check—at least for now. Max never bit anyone. If he’d turned aggressive toward Mark, it was for a reason.

Mark followed him out of the room. “You’re the asshole. What gives you the right to break into my house?”

#

Brett hurried into the alley after Mark pushed him out the door and slammed it in his face. Just as well. If Brett had stayed much longer, he might have decked the guy.

He jogged through the alley past garbage cans, barking dogs, and a gold cat, then into the street toward his car at the grocery store. Running helped simmer his boiling blood. He slowed as he approached the parking lot as shoppers were coming and going.

Taking two deep breaths, he wiped his sweaty palms on his shorts and climbed into his car. He drove out of the parking lot tempted to switch on his flashers, but held back. It would be better if he didn’t draw attention to his car, but he needed to haul butt if he was going to make it to Sarah’s on time. Ali had better be ready. It was 9:40.

It felt like a week since he’d seen Quinn!

He unclipped his phone and dialed Clay’s number. Clay answered on the second ring. “What’s up?”

“If I give you the URL addresses of two geo-sites can you tell me if either is one of the crime scenes?”

“Maybe. Why?”

Brett dug in his pants pocket and retrieved the addresses from Mark’s computer, then read them to Clay. “I found them on Mark’s home computer.”

“You were there?”

Brett shoved the piece of paper back into his pocket while watching the traffic, and sped to Ali’s. “Yes, but you don’t know that.”

Clay chuckled. “I’m not sure I like the sound of that, but I’ll check them out and get back to you.”

“Thanks.” Brett disconnected his call and dialed Ali’s phone. No answer. Of course. She better be ready.

He pulled onto her street and noticed a van marked WMDU, the local television station, parked out front. His stomach tumbled. What were they doing there? Had something happened to Ali? He flew up the driveway and threw the gearshift into Park. As he got out of his car, a thick-bodied news reporter approached him with a microphone. A short guy with a beard followed with a camera resting on his shoulder.

“What’s wrong?” Brett said, approaching the men.

The reporter shoved the microphone in Brett’s face. “Officer Reed, is it true that CPS took your daughter?”

“Who told you that? What business is it of yours?” His temper rose, furious with the gossip hounds in his neighborhood, especially Mrs. Finkle. Why couldn’t they mind their own business?

“Is it true?”

Brett turned away and continued his trek up the driveway. “No comment.”

“Are you hopeful that you’ll get her back?”

As he walked toward the front door, the reporter followed.

“Your neighbor said your daughter was found wandering the streets. Is that true?”