Deadly Dozen: 12 Mysteries/Thrillers (117 page)

“I don’t feel like talking,” I said. “I’m tired.”

“You’re angry. I can hear it in your voice.”

“I haven’t heard from you in almost a week, Giovanni. Not one word. And now you finally call, and there’s no apology, no explanation, nothing. Maybe this is typical relationship behavior for you, but I—”

“I know, I should have told you.”

“Told me what?” I said.

“My sister was taken.”

“I’m not sure what you mean,” I said. “Abducted?”

“Yes.”

I couldn’t believe it. Another one. Although the reasons wouldn’t be the same. Giovanni’s sister wasn’t a child.

“From where?” I said.

“Her apartment in New York City.”

“But she has an alarm system, doesn’t she?”

“It was disabled.”

“Do you know who did it?”

“My brother and I are working together to figure it out. He’s here with me. We’re getting close.”

Giovanni’s brother was in the FBI. If anyone could find her, he could. I wouldn’t want to be the other person when they did.

“Why would anyone want to take Daniela?” I said.

There was a pause, followed by heavy breathing.

“Giovanni, I want to know. Tell me.”

“I’m afraid it has something to do with me.”

“You? Why?”

“A few months ago a group of men I used to do business with reached out to me. They needed a favor, asked for my help. I turned them down. They got angry, started making threats, but I didn’t take them seriously. I never believed anything would come of it. I had those closest to me under surveillance, just in case, but—”

“Wait a minute,” I said. “You didn’t have anyone keeping an eye on me, did you?”

His prolonged silence provided the answer. But I lacked the energy to be angry, and the right—not while Daniela was still missing.

“If you were looking out for your sister, how did she get abducted?” I said.

“That’s what I’ve been trying to figure out. It appears one of my men may have been providing information to someone else.”

“Who?”

“I have my suspicions, and he is being followed. I need to be sure.”

“Why did you wait so long to tell me?” I said.

“I didn’t want to get you involved—this is something I need to do on my own.”

“You involved me when I became part of your life,” I said.

“I knew you’d be right beside me, which is why I waited to tell you until you had a new case. I’ve put Daniela in danger; I won’t let it happen to you as well.”

“How do you know about my case?”

Stupid question. He knew everything, except for the current whereabouts of his sister. And he was right. If I hadn’t been trying to find Olivia and Savannah, I would have been on the next flight to New York City.

Giovanni apologized, something he wasn’t used to doing. It was sincere, and as much as I wanted to be there, he promised to keep me informed of any progress he was making if I stayed put, and I agreed—at least until my own case was solved. But if I solved it, and Daniela was still missing, our deal was off.

“It was me,” Maddie said when my conversation with Giovanni was over. She sat down on the bed, patting Lord Berkeley on the head and avoiding eye contact. “Lucio called me and wanted to know if you were all right.”

I leaned back on the pillow. “Well, at least now I know why Giovanni finally called. Once he found out I had something else to occupy my time, he knew I wouldn’t fly out there. Not right now, anyway.”

“He just didn’t want you to worry,” she said.

But I was worried, and not just for Daniela. I was finally starting to understand the consequences of being involved with someone who lived the kind of life Giovanni did. He might have been loving and kind to me, but that was only one side of his personality. I’d never seen the other. And I didn’t want to—I’d grown fond of him over the past several months, an attribute that allowed me to overlook certain things. I couldn’t imagine what Daniela might have been suffering on her brother’s behalf, or if she was still alive. I wanted to sleep, but I couldn’t. Now that I knew the price of being with him, what was I going to do about it?

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

In my dream, two girls were running through the woods, calling for me—by name. The sounds of their voices echoed around me. The girls came to a door suspended in mid-air between two giant pine trees and knocked on it, even though they could have just stepped around it and been on the other side. I tried to open the door, but it was stuck. The knob turned, but when I pulled back, nothing happened. Their knocking grew so loud it vibrated in my head, forcing me awake.

Someone was knocking on the hotel room door.

I sat straight up in bed and looked around. I shouted for Maddie. There was no reply. And Boo wasn’t on the bed anymore. Maybe Maddie had gone out and forgotten her room key. I threw my robe on and cracked open the door, surprised when it wasn’t Maddie on the other side.

The man in the hallway was an older gentleman, at least twenty years my senior, maybe more. He wore a button-up shirt with a thin, black vest over the top, and a brown cowboy hat that looked like it had gone through the washing machine a few too many times. Around his neck was a tassel-like choker worn in place of a tie with a round piece of solid rock the size of a half dollar dangling from it. His beard was white and slight and most likely trimmed on a daily basis. It made him look respectable and refined, but it didn’t hide his tired, stress-infused eyes.

“Detective McCoy?” I said.

“How’d you know?” the man said with a slight smile.

“Lucky guess,” I said. “You’re Cade’s father, right?”

He nodded. “I was hopin’ I could have a word?”

I stifled a yawn. “What time is it?”

“A little after six in the mornin’,” he said. “I’m sorry if I woke you. I can come back later if you like.”

I opened the door all the way, letting him in. “Give me just a minute.”

I brushed my teeth, saving my daily flossing routine for later. I didn’t want to keep the detective waiting. On the bathroom counter was a note scratched in pencil:

I took Boo for a walk. Back soon.

I pulled on a pair of jeans, zipped up my sweater, and joined the detective in the living room area of the hotel.

“My son says you’re a private investigator,” he said.

“Are you here to ask me to leave? Because if you are, you should know I—”

He shook his head.

“Six months ago, I would have done everything in my power to run you out of town, but now…” He curled one hand over the other, resting them in his lap. “My boy says you had a meetin’ with Noah Tate a few days ago. I’m interested in knowin’ what the conversation was all about.”

I crossed one leg over the other. “I’m sure you’re aware of why Mr. Tate came to see me.”

Detective McCoy removed his hat and placed it on the cushion beside him. “I am.”

“Then what you’re really asking me is whether I know something you don’t.”

He sighed.

“S’pose so.” He leaned back, tugging on a bit of chin hair. “Well, do you?”

“There is one thing,” I said.

Detective McCoy’s eyes electrified, almost changing color. “What did he tell you?”

“I can’t say right now,” I said. “Not yet.”

Detective McCoy contemplated my statement like he was trying to decide what he should do next, which was fine with me. I wasn’t going to tell him either way.

“In all my years of police work, I’ve never had a case like this,” he said. “Sure, there have been a few murders now and again, but not more than I can count on one hand, and none I couldn’t solve. The responsible party has always been obvious. I thought that’s how I’d retire. I’d go out like all the others before me, quiet and unnoticed, without ever having the kind of case that keeps a man up all night wonderin’ if he’d missed something.”

He hung his head and continued.

“Do you want to know somethin’? For a while, I actually felt a little like I’d been robbed, not havin’ a case like this, until I got it. Now I’d do anything to go out as the quiet guy. I feel incapable of doing the job I was sworn in to do. I can’t go anywhere in this town without feelin’ like I’ve let everyone down. I can see it in their eyes every time they look at me. I’ve gotten to know Savannah Tate so well over the months, I feel like she’s my own child.”

The emotions of others had always been hard for me to endure. As a child, the verbal tongue-lashing my sister and I received from our father, combined with the physical abuse he unleashed on my mother, shut me down almost completely, and I never felt like I’d fully restarted. I wasn’t devoid of feelings—I’d always felt an iota of something—but it seemed like it wasn’t ever the same thing other people felt.

“Detective McCoy, I don’t mind sharing what I know. In fact, I want you to know. I just need to speak with Mr. Tate first.”

“When do you plan on seeing him next?” he said.

“I’ll be stopping by his house today. Can we meet up again this evening?”

He grabbed his hat and stood up, pleased with the progress he’d made. He took out his wallet and handed me his card. “My home number is there,” he said, pointing. “It’s the best way to reach me. I’m not much for cell phones. I have one, but I forget to charge the damn thing.”

I nodded and accepted the card.

Detective McCoy hesitated a moment.

“Is there anything else?” I said.

“You’ll have to forgive my boy,” he said. “Cade’s having a hard time seeing me go through all of this. But he doesn’t mean you any harm. He’s just trying to help his old man.”

“Cade said he’ll be taking over your position.”

“Looks like it,” he said.

“Have you worked together long?”

He shook his head.

“Cade went into law enforcement right out of high school, but then he got married and decided to move away.”

“Why?”

“His wife,” he said. “She was determined to live by her family. She didn’t want much to do with ours. I never understood why. But back then, Cade didn’t deny her anything. He would have moved anywhere just to make her happy.”

How very codependent of him.

“And now? How does she feel about living here?”

“Cade’s wife walked out on him a couple years back. Took off with some guy she’d met at work. Left Cade to raise their daughter on his own. That woman just walked out. No note, no warning. She didn’t even bother taking her things. Not that I’m complaining. Finally gives his mother and me the chance to get to know our granddaughter. I’m not gonna lie, we’re glad he’s home.”

The world had changed in a profound way since my grandparents were young. Back then people fought for their marriage, worked things out, didn’t give up on each other so easily. People respected each other. They worked hard, and it wasn’t easy, but they were happy. Most of the time, anyway. That’s what my grandpa had always said.

But things had changed. The world had changed. Men and women were impatient and selfish and rushed. They didn’t like it when things didn’t “feel” right. But instead of taking a long, hard look at themselves and accepting responsibility for their part in the relationship, they fled the scene. At the first sign of trouble, they simply ended things, walked out. Men succumbed to the temptation of another woman, and women abandoned their own children, leaving them for someone else to raise. It was all about me, me, me. There was some level of independence that came with this, but no balance.

Of course everyone didn’t give up so easily, but it was happening all around me: to my friends, my neighbors, my loved ones. I didn’t understand how anyone could behave in such a disrespectful, selfish way and still feel good about themselves. Maybe because it wasn’t in me to do those things. I wasn’t a quitter. My relationships hadn’t always worked out, but when they ended, they ended honorably, and not because I’d been brainwashed into thinking life could be better in someone else’s bed.