Critical Pursuit (16 page)

“WHAT?”
Chuck stepped in front of Brinna. “How do you know?”

Brinna swallowed as the nasty taste of déjà vu rose in her throat like rancid food. “If this is a copycat, a conversion van makes sense. Pearce took me to a travel trailer. He had a four-wheel-drive truck hitched to a travel trailer. That’s what he drove me across the desert in. Chuck, you said it; he’s a traveler.” She felt sweat pop out on her forehead, as much from anticipation as disgust. “That’s one way to travel. We need to get a chopper up, contact the sheriff’s office.”

When Brinna took a breath, Klein stepped in. “Where do you think he’s gone?”

“Don’t you see?” She challenged the skeptical male faces watching her. “He’s taunting me. This is about me. He’s taken her to the desert where Pearce left me.”

Chuck and Klein exchanged glances. “That’s a long shot,” Chuck said.

“But it makes sense. His beef seems to be with me. He wants me to make the connection.” She jabbed her thumb toward her chest. “I’ve made it. Now I need to get out to the Mojave Desert.”

She started around Klein, but he grabbed her arm. “We’ll contact the sheriff. They can get personnel out there long before you can get there.”

“But this is my deal. He took her because of me.” Brinna jerked her arm from his grasp. “I want to find her.”

“You’re both right,” Chuck said. “But, Brinna, admit it
 
—the deputies out in Palmdale can get to the scene a lot faster. Besides, this could be a trap.”

Klein agreed. “If he is after you, this could be his way to set you up. They’ll have a better knowledge of the area anyway. Have you been back to the site in twenty years?”

Brinna blew out a breath and stepped from one foot to the other, hating to admit they were right. “We’re just so close. This is so personal. I want to get this guy.”

“We all want to get him,” Klein said. “First we’re putting out a press release. I’ll drop a bone to Tracy on Jessica to get the media machine going. She’ll be on the radio right away and make the early morning news broadcasts. At the same time we’ll contact the sheriff.”

Brinna clenched a fist and hoped with all her might that this girl would be found in time.

* * *

Brinna gripped the steering wheel so tightly her knuckles turned white. The desire to direct her car to the desert rather
than downtown was so strong it almost won out over common sense.

It had hit like a bullet when the officer mentioned a conversion van with four-wheel-drive capabilities being parked on the street. Memories flooded her thoughts
 
—memories of being stowed in the travel trailer until it stopped in the desert.
He told me he was invisible, that no one else could see him.
The stale smell of unwashed blankets and the portable potty rose up in her nostrils. In her mind’s eye she saw Jessica inside the van, crying and frightened.

In spite of the emotions raging within, Brinna made the turn into the station parking lot.

Jack got out first, then bent down and peered in the window. “You coming?”

“Yes,” she grunted and opened her door. She leashed Hero and followed Jack to the station’s back door.

“Good call,” Jack said, turning as he reached the door.

“What?”

“About the desert. I think you were right on about where he’d go. He picked you to torment. It makes sense he’d return to the scene of your victimization.”

“That’s what my instincts tell me.” She raised an eyebrow at Jack as she slid her entry card through the slot to unlock the door.

Jack pulled the door open and held it for her and Hero to go inside. “You have great instincts,” Jack said, a smile tugging at his lips.

Brinna turned away. “Umm” was all she said, wondering why it was always weird to see a smile from him.

They rode the elevator up to the homicide office. Homicide handled kidnappings, so detectives had been called from home. Brinna wondered who would respond.

“It’s not going to bother you being in the homicide office, is it?” she asked.

Jack shook his head. “Nope. I can hang. My partner talked a lot of sense to me a little while ago
 
—about moving on and being a useful partner, I mean.”

“That’s me. I’m a regular Dear Abby.” She fidgeted, glancing away from Jack, suddenly more comfortable with the creepy, quiet Jack than the smiling, helpful one she now saw.
This isn’t a permanent partnership,
she told herself.
I certainly don’t want to get attached to Jack O’Reilly.

Klein sat at a computer, putting the finishing touches on a press release and printing out flyers with Jessica’s picture on them. Weldon was on the phone with the LA County sheriff’s office requesting officers to respond to the location in the Mojave Desert where Brinna had been abandoned so many years ago. Most if not all of the desert communities contracted with the sheriff for law enforcement services.

To Brinna, the office was too small; the walls felt as though they were closing in. She felt caged and ready to burst with energy and anxiety, knowing the sergeant just wanted her to wait. Chafing at the knowledge that she was just supposed to sit and wait while she wanted to be the one in the field hunting for this guy. Hero seemed to feel her restlessness; his eyes followed her every move.

“You want some coffee?” Jack asked. Brinna nodded and he left the room. She checked her watch; it was almost two
in the morning. Debating whether or not Milo would mind being awakened, she got up, walked to a desk at the back of the room, and picked up the phone. Hero followed.

The phone rang several times and no machine picked up. Brinna was just about to hang up when an unfamiliar voice answered.

“Hello, Milo?” she asked while her face crinkled with confusion.

“Who is this?” the voice demanded.

“This is Officer Brinna Caruso. Where is Gregor Milovich?”

“Brinna.” Some of the sharpness left the voice. “Sorry, this is John Horn. I used to work with Milo. I met you once or twice. Remember me?”

Nonplussed, Brinna responded, “Yeah, I remember you, but where’s Milo?”

“Uh, just a minute.”

The line went quiet, and Brinna drummed on the desk.
What is going on?

“Brinna.” John’s voice returned on the line. “I’m sorry. I hate to be the one to break this to you, but Milo’s dead.”

“What?”
Brinna went numb. Through a fog as thick as dark wool, she heard Horn explain to her that Milo had killed himself. He’d eaten his service revolver, despondent because he’d been diagnosed with inoperable lung cancer. His note said he didn’t want to be a burden to anyone and he didn’t want to live the remainder of his life doped up.

From far, far away, Horn ended the call by saying the coroner had arrived to take custody of the body.

She placed the phone in its cradle and felt like the air had been sucked from her lungs. Gregor Milovich, her idol, her strength, the man who had drummed into her to never give up, had given up in a final, shocking way.

“BRINNA, YOU OKAY?”

Jack’s voice cut through the haze and Brinna looked up, struggling to focus on his face.

“You okay?” he repeated, setting a cup of coffee in front of her. “Your face is white. Are you going to barf?”

She shook her head, not sure she could speak without breaking down. Grabbing the coffee, she took a gulp, letting the hot liquid scorch her throat.

“I’m fine,” she rasped, then cleared her throat. “Thanks for the coffee.”

“No problem.” Jack took a seat across the desk.

She could feel his worried gaze on her. The words were on her tongue to tell Jack to get lost, but Brinna couldn’t speak them. It took all of the strength in her body to ignore the dagger piercing her heart. It twisted every time she put
Milo
next to
dead
. Staring at the phone, Brinna wished the conversation she’d just had was a bad dream brought about by a lack of sleep. Then again, she thought, maybe it was a
stupid prank.
Maybe Milo will return my call and say it was all a mistake.

“Klein says deputies are on their way to check out the spot,” Jack said, the upbeat tone of his voice grating.

“What?”

“The spot
 
—you know, where you were left.”

Brinna willed her thoughts to Jessica. “Then we should hear something soon.”

“What exactly happened to you? I mean, all those years ago?” Jack asked.

Fists clenched, fingernails biting into her palms, Brinna answered the familiar question. It was easy to answer without much effort because she’d been asked so many times. “He left me tied to the porch of an abandoned building and drove off.”

“Overnight?”

“Roughly forty-eight hours.”
Until Milo found me. Why, Milo?

“They never caught him?”

She shook her head. “Not for what he did to me.” Brinna pushed the news about Milo down deep.

“But he was caught ten years later.”

“Yep, trying to take another girl.” She recognized Jack was trying to drag information out of her, and she worked not to be irritated. “The statute of limitations had run out for me.”

“How was he killed?”

Brinna sighed. “He escaped while being transported to the courthouse for the first day of his trial. This was out in San Bernardino. SB sheriff’s deputies found him holed up
at a hotel in the mountains. When SWAT fired tear gas into the room they believed he was in, the whole place went up like a Roman candle.”

“He was verified dead?”

Brinna ground her teeth, struggling with control, hands still clenched in fists under the desk.
Hold it together; hold it together.
“Him and four recovering drug addicts. They did blood typing at that time. One set of remains matched Pearce.”

Just then Sergeant Klein waved them to the front of the office. “Bad news,” he began as Jack and Brinna joined him. “Deputies are on scene, and they’ve got nothing. No van, no Jessica.”

Brinna groaned and bit her bottom lip to keep it from quivering.

“They’ll keep an eye on the area,” Klein added. He tapped on a desk with his knuckles and gave Brinna a we-tried expression.

“We’ll have Jessica’s picture on all the morning newscasts.” Chuck put a hand on Brinna’s shoulder. “We’ll find her.”

Brinna could only nod. Emotions inside raged, tearing her apart.

Milo is dead. Is it too late for Jessica? Oh, how I need a Kevlar heart.

IT WAS FIVE THIRTY
in the morning before Jack was ready to concede the investigation to the homicide detail and go home. Brinna had checked out a short time before
 
—seemingly shell-shocked, he thought.
She’s taking this thing with Jessica too hard.
He hadn’t forgotten about the office at her house and the importance finding kids had in her life. It consumed her, made her a crusader.

At first glance it was a healthy obsession. But was any obsession really healthy? Jack wondered. One that did good for people was, he decided. At that point he realized that Brinna’s obsession had infected him to a large degree.

It was something Vicki would’ve liked
 
—a crusade for kids. Jack’s mind whirred with ideas about how to help Brinna and maybe, in the process, Jessica, too.

“Here’s my follow-up.” Jack handed the paper to Klein. “Mind if I head home?”

Klein shook his head. “Go get some sleep. This is your Friday, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, I’m ready for bed.” Jack turned to leave but Klein stopped him.

“Good job tonight. You’re getting back in the game.”

Jack nodded, wanting to tell the sergeant he was more right than he knew. Today, at this moment, he felt more normal than he had in a year. But a lingering feeling that he was still hanging on to life only by his fingernails stopped him.

Nothing in his life would be settled completely until the sentencing.

“I’ll do my job” was all he said as he left the office. Jack hurried to the locker room and changed. For the first time in a long time, his investigative instincts roared inside him. As a homicide investigator, he’d loved the hunt, the feeling of putting the right pieces together and closing in on prey. Brinna’s tale had stirred something in him. He wanted to find out all he could about Nigel Pearce and the police shoot-out ten years ago.

* * *

No van.

No Jessica.

Where has the kidnapper gone?

Brinna felt each minute ticking off the clock as if it were a knife jabbing her heart. On top of everything else, today was the day she had to meet her brother’s plane and brave a hospital visit to her father.

On the way to the airport, she stopped at a 7-Eleven and bought a roll of Tums, popping half of it into her mouth before she got back to the car. The whole roll was gone by the time she
reached the airport. She parked her truck and flowed into the terminal with the crowds at LAX to await her brother’s plane.

An arrival screen told Brinna that Brian’s plane was delayed. She found a place to sit where she could watch arrivals stream out from customs and contemplated her morning up to that point.

After hearing about Jessica, irritated and antsy knowing she couldn’t rush out to the desert and search for the girl on her own, Brinna did the hardest thing she’d ever done in her life: she drove out to Milo’s house.

It was the last place she wanted to be because she knew once she got there, the news she’d received from John Horn would be real. She wouldn’t be able to pretend she’d never had the phone conversation.

The pressure on her chest when she thought of Milo was unbearable. But she’d made the trip to Santa Clarita and survived.

Initially, good memories surfaced in Brinna’s mind. Her first visit to Milo’s house had happened when she was seven. They’d celebrated the one-year anniversary of her rescue. Milo’s first dog, Scout, was still alive then, and he had tumbled around on the lawn with Brinna. After that, every year they got together for friendly, fun barbecues.

The visits were more frequent when Brinna got her driver’s license. By that time she was firmly on her way to a career in law enforcement. She became a Police Explorer Scout for Long Beach PD, and she picked Milo’s brain constantly. He happily worked with her, answering questions, taking her on ride-alongs, being a mentor and friend.

The happy memories were drenched in a dark cloud by the cold truth of the reason for her visit that day.

John Horn met her on the front steps. “Don’t think you want to go in there, Brin. He was dead at least long enough for neighbors to call and complain about the smell.”

Brinna sighed, remembering her last visit.
Was his moroseness a signal I missed? All that nonsense about God . . . Was Milo trying to tell me something I didn’t hear?
She counted back the days, trying to determine when he pulled the trigger. She also tried not to imagine what several days in hundred-degree heat had done to Milo.

“How long did he know he had cancer?” she asked John as she plopped down next to him on the porch, a place she’d often sat with Milo on warm summer evenings. “I was just here; he never said a word.”

“Doctor said he was diagnosed a year ago. He wanted to operate then. Milo said no. And I guess by now the cancer was worse. I was on the fishing trip with him. He hacked and hacked. I thought it was a cold.” John spit tobacco juice into a paper cup.

“Yeah, he coughed a lot when I was here. Man, he still smoked.” Brinna struggled to keep her voice steady.

“Milo smoked since he was twelve. Even a death sentence couldn’t break that addiction. His note just said he didn’t want to be a burden or be so doped up he was a spit-drooling moron. Lung cancer is a nasty way to die.”

Brinna remembered Milo’s comment about Baxter and how he didn’t want his pal to spend his last days doped up. Was Milo afraid the same fate awaited him?

“He was a fighter. Why didn’t he fight this?” Brinna’s fingernails dug into her palm. “And why didn’t he tell me?”

John had no answers. He shoved some more tobacco into his cheek. They sat in silence for a few moments.

“I left a message the other day,” Brinna said after a while. “Was he already dead?”

John shrugged. “Probably. We won’t know the exact time of death until after the autopsy, and maybe not even then.”

“If only
 
—” her voice broke
 
—“I could have helped.” She sucked back a sob and wiped away a tear.

“Don’t blame yourself. Milo was a very independent guy. He just made his mind up and did the deed.”

“I didn’t even get to say good-bye.”

“We all feel that way. Milo was my first training officer. He’s the last guy I would have ever thought would go out this way.” John’s voice was thick with emotion.

“Thanks for telling me,” Brinna said, after she was certain her voice wouldn’t break again. “And thanks for meeting me here. It’ll be a while before I really believe he’s gone.”

“No problem.” John stood and patted her shoulder. “His son is flying in from Washington to make funeral arrangements. I’ll let you know when I hear.”

“I’m going to sit here for a few minutes, if you don’t mind.”

“Take your time,” John said. She watched him walk across the lawn to his car.

She’d sat quietly for a long while, tears streaming down her face. . . .

Now, waiting in the international terminal for her
brother’s plane to land, the pain bubbled back up. Two painful facts pierced her heart: Milo was gone, and he’d left by taking his own life.

* * *

Brinna watched travelers arrive, greet loved ones, and for the most part leave the terminal smiling. Occasionally someone would catch her eye, a person who trudged along, half-dead with exhaustion, probably from a bumpy eighteen-hour flight. They’d be disheveled with dark bags under their eyes, and even if their luggage had wheels, it was as if they were barely making it underneath their load.

Heart heavy and physically exhausted from the excruciating reality of Milo’s death, she felt like one of those travelers, struggling with a horrible case of jet lag, wrung out and empty.

She wondered if this was how Jack had felt when he lost his wife. It was emptiness so dark and total that at the moment Brinna could understand someone losing their grip and giving up. Something caught in her throat as she remembered one of Milo’s lectures about never giving up during a fight:
“The will to survive saves many a cop from death at the hands of a bad guy”
was something he drummed into rookies.
“Never give up.”

But where was Milo’s will to survive?

Closing her eyes, Brinna smacked a fist into her palm.
I can’t think about this anymore. I will do my job. I’ll do it even better. I won’t dissolve and fall apart; I won’t,
she vowed.

The protection she’d put around her heart kept her
standing. Not wanting to let Milo’s suicide wipe out years of instruction and advice, Brinna clung to what he’d drilled into her
 
—that when things were the toughest, when stakes were the highest, a Kevlar heart was essential. Personal feelings had to be bulletproof, impervious to emotions that could cloud sound cop judgment.

The ring of her cell phone came as a welcome distraction. She pulled it off her belt, noting the homicide extension. “Caruso.”

“Brinna.” Ben Carney’s voice hailed her. “Deputies found Jessica . . . alive. You were right. He left her in the same place you were left. They were just a couple hours early the first time. A recheck of the area hit pay dirt. According to the little girl, the man drove her around for a long time. She said it felt like they went in circles.”

Brinna sighed and closed her eyes as one huge load rolled off her shoulders. “That’s great news
 
—great. Is she okay?”

“As well as can be expected. He’d tied her up, left her alone out there. But she wasn’t molested. She says he seemed to be in a terrible hurry. I bet he’s feeling the heat.”

“No sign of the van?”

“No. This guy seems to be able to ghost pretty good. Deputies were all over the place, but there’s a lot of ground to cover. Jessica confirmed that they had been in a ‘van-like camper,’ she called it. She’s a remarkable little girl.”

“Was she able to give a description?”

“Good enough for a seven-year-old. As soon as she’s able, we’ll set her up with a sketch artist. You want to be there when that happens?”

“Sure, let me know when. Right now I’m at the airport, waiting for my brother’s plane.”

“He’s flying in from South America?”

“Yeah. How’d you know he was in South America?”

“My church prays for missionaries; your brother is on our list. Is he on furlough?”

Brinna rolled her eyes. “That’s right; your type sticks together. I guess furlough. My dad is sick, so Brian is coming home.”

“Sick? Is it serious?”

Brinna clicked her tongue. “Yeah, but it’s of his own making. My dad’s lived in a liquor bottle most of my life. It finally caught up with him.”

“Sorry to hear that, for him and for you.”

“For me?”

“Sure, you sound bitter. It must be rough.”

“I’m not bitter. I’m just telling you the truth. Why? I don’t know. It’s none of your business.”

Ben laughed. “Brinna the direct. Well, I’ll be praying for you and your family. By the way, Jack filed a great follow-up this morning; it reminded me of the old Jack. What did you do to him?”

“The usual. I slapped him around a bit.”
Jack is the least of my worries right now.

“Good for you. Take care.”

“Thanks for the news.” Brinna flipped her phone closed and went back to watching the arrival screen, which now indicated Brian’s plane had landed.

With Jessica safe, Brinna had only a couple tons of worry to deal with instead of several.

Her thoughts drifted to Brian. He’d been out of the country for two years. A missionary. Brinna blew out a breath and shook her head. He always took after Mom. But what choice did he have? Dad never had time for either of them.

The thought that she’d always considered Milo her real dad popped into her mind and she smashed it down, not wanting to go there anymore.

She stood and paced, shoving the pain down deep. Apprehension about seeing her father in the hospital grabbed her gut like a thick elastic band pulling taut. Afraid she’d start hyperventilating in front of all the airport strangers, Brinna concentrated on breathing and watching people file out.

When she saw Brian, an unexpected thrill coursed through her. Though they had their sibling quarrels growing up and had little in common, Brinna loved her little brother with a protective big-sister love. But seeing him now, he wasn’t really little anymore.

Brian stood a little over six feet tall, and he’d filled out in all the right ways. He was no longer the scrawny, pesky kid she remembered. Broad-shouldered, tan, dark hair on the long side hitting his collar, Brian broke into a grin when he saw her.

“Hey, Sis, it’s super to see you.” He dropped his backpack and grabbed her in a hug she gladly returned.

“My little brother!” She gripped his shoulders, standing on her tiptoes to do so. “You look great. I guess South America agrees with you.”

“I’ve been blessed, really blessed. How’ve you been?”

“Hanging in there. You have luggage?”

“Nope, just the backpack. I’ve learned to travel light.”

“Great. Let’s get going.”

Later, while they were stuck in traffic on the 405 freeway, Brian talked about his work in South America. Brinna listened, happy to have the noise, grateful for the distraction. And very happy Brian would be with her when she walked into the hospital.

“Do you need to go home first? Or do you want to go straight to the hospital?” she asked when he came up for air.

“Let’s go see Dad. I bet Mom is there already.”

“Okay.” Brinna spoke calmly, but the closer she got to Long Beach Memorial, the tighter her throat got. A thought popped into her mind as she drove: she’d rather face ten hardened criminals than one sick father.

“What’s been going on with you? You’re awfully quiet,” Brian said.

Brinna shrugged. “You know Dad and I have had our differences.”

“Yeah, I know. But he’s dying now. Can’t you forgive him?”

“Mom said the same thing. Forgive him for what? For being an absent, mostly-drunk dad?” She shot an annoyed glance at Brian and saw him roll his eyes. “I’ve moved on and made a great life for myself. Don’t you try to say he drinks because he thinks I blame him for something.”

“I’m not saying that. He’s just always felt responsible. You know that.”