Noah's Rainy Day (7 page)

“Anyway, I found this really cool pin,” she said, unwrapping the tiny gift for me. “I think you’ll like it, but I’m not sure. Maybe I’ve read all the signs wrong.” I stopped smiling, studying her face and the pin she pulled from the box with my bionic eye. “The signs that you’d make a great spy are that you’re smart, you pay attention, and you notice everything. And you’re great at pretending to be asleep.” I groaned. “I think you would make a great spy. Unless you’re afraid of danger, which I highly doubt.”

I grinned, feeling happy that she understood and appreciated my talents and that we shared this secret of my life as a spy.

“See this? It’s a goalpost with a football flying through it. Manly.” I laughed. She did, too. “The football is really an activation button. The tiny cameraman videotaping the field goal is really a microphone nested in the pin. Even though this pin is the size of a quarter, the memory card can hold up to two hours of audio. A spy needs equipment like this, don’t you think?”

I sucked in a long breath, feeling more excited about this gift than the flashlight she’d given me last year. It was a luminescent flashlight that
detected things like bloodstains. Cool! It had a purplish glow and a big switch the size of a salad plate. But Mom and Dad took that away after the neighbor complained about the light flashing on and off on nights I couldn’t sleep and was bored. I don’t know where they put it, but I’d bet it’s on the top shelf of my closet where Emma can’t reach.

I wasn’t sure if I could activate the pin because the button was so tiny, but so what? How cool was this that I could spy for real? As she held the pin close to my good eye, I could see that the brown football, about the size of a dime, was the largest part of the pin. I hoped I could reach up with my arms and at least tap the button with my crooked fingers or wrist bone.

“Now before I pin this on your shirt, you have to promise me you won’t use this to get your sister in trouble or to record your parents. If you do, we’ll both get in trouble. It’s just for secret missions. Like to find the owner of the lost backpack. The case of the mysterious backpack. Agreed?”

I was so excited I couldn’t force my mouth’s wide opening to form a smile so I moved my eyes upward and kicked my legs.

Auntie Liv said, “Okay, then pinky swear.”

My kicking continued and Beulah squirmed beside me. I hadn’t heard Emma come into my room over my own laughing, but I heard Auntie Liv’s groan when my sister jumped on her back. “Ow.”

“I’ve got her, Noah! Two against one.”

I heard Auntie Liv grunt. “Oh no!”

“Surrender. We have you surrounded.”

I felt Beulah stir beside me. In all my excitement, I hadn’t noticed until now the fresh scabs on Auntie Liv’s hands. And Emma’s roughhousing had caused Auntie Liv to wince in pain. I could tell she was hurting.

“Okay, I surrender. Stop, please,” Auntie Liv begged.

Critical Mass. Stuff happens to Auntie Liv. My mom and Auntie Elizabeth were right. But now that I’m a spy, maybe cool stuff will start happening to me and they’ll start calling me CM Junior.

“WHAT DO YOU MEAN
, they lost him?”

Denver Police Chief Tony Gates had found the quietest area he could, which was no small feat considering seven of his relatives and thirteen of his wife’s family members had joined his family of eight for a Christmas Eve feast. But he’d managed to steal himself away to the back porch where he could be alone. It was too cold outside to entice any of his six kids to play in the backyard with their cousins. Plus the sun was already setting behind the Rocky Mountains.

After Gates had answered the phone, his best friend Streeter Pierce had followed him out on the porch, probably recognizing the expression on his face. The glare of the setting sun reflecting off the crusted snow was bright. Squinting didn’t seem to help lessen the blinding brilliance of ice crystals that wouldn’t last for long. So Gates turned his back to the yard and leaned against the wooden railing on the covered porch, staring into the window of his cheerful home. Streeter rested against the railing beside him. Their side-by-side reflections in the windowpane made him think of salt and pepper; Streeter’s hair was as white as cotton and his was black with silver streaks at the temples.

He put the phone on speaker, now that the two of them were alone.

The voice of the deputy on the other end of the call could be heard, “ . . . says the boy was put on a plane at LaGuardia by his father to be picked up at LAX by his mother, with one stop at Denver.”

“How old a kid are we talking?” Gates asked, shifting his gaze toward his friend. At the word “kid,” he noticed the weariness around Streeter’s eyes. That coupled with his colorless hair made him appear much older than his late thirties.

“Five.”

“Damn it, what the hell were they thinking? Didn’t anyone notice the kid didn’t make it on the Denver to LAX flight for God’s sake?” Gates asked, a dread draining what little energy he had mustered for the holiday festivities. He wasn’t much older than Streeter, but he felt like an old man himself after too many of these horrifying cases involving missing, exploited, or abused children.

“They did. Apparently paged the kid’s name
and
the airline escort who was responsible for the unaccompanied minor. Airline rules.”

“And?”

“Nothing. The boy was supposed to be in LA an hour and a half ago. His mother waited for a half hour after the Denver flight landed in LA before calling her ex in New York, which is when they figured out that the kid had disappeared somewhere between when he got off the plane at DIA and when he was supposed to arrive at LAX.”

Gates exchanged a look with Streeter, both men shaking their heads.

“What the hell? How does someone lose a kid? What’s wrong with these people?” Gates saw an always-prepared Streeter fish a pad of paper and pen from his pocket and gave him a nod of encouragement, asking, “Timeline?”

“The father took the kid to the airport for a flight from LaGuardia to DIA that left at 10:20 a.m. EST and landed at 12:40 p.m. MST.”

“Four hours and twenty minutes. And the airline confirmed the boy was on that flight?”

“Yes. And that he arrived in Denver. Then the kid was supposed to get on flight 1212 to LAX, leaving Denver at 1:55 p.m. MST and arriving in LA at 3:20 p.m. PST. Like I said, the gate agent claims she noticed the kid and the escort never made it on the flight but assumed the kid got
sick or something and the escort was attending to him. Figured they’d rebook after holding up the flight as long as they could. She said that happens all the time. The mother claims to have waited until a quarter to four her time before calling her ex. Then everything started rocking and rolling from there.”

Gates looked at his watch and calculated. “It’s 5:45 p.m. now and the boy’s been missing since somewhere between 12:40 p.m. and 1:55 p.m., four or five hours ago.”

The silence that followed was heavy. Gates knew that a four or five hour jump on the police was a huge advantage for whoever had abducted the child.

“Why wasn’t this reported by BlueSky hours ago?”

“They said this was news to them. The gate agent said the system clearly showed they hadn’t checked in so it wasn’t her fault. The BlueSky brass claims they don’t check the records of those not checking in for a flight until day’s end. They found out when the parents called. An hour ago. The employee escorting the kid never reported it.”

“Who the hell is this loser?”

“Guy’s name is Kevin Benson. He’s a Denver-based BlueSky employee.”

“Where is Benson now?” Gates growled.

“No one seems to know. No one has seen him since he got off the plane in Denver with the boy.”

Gates exchanged a glance with Pierce, who stood with his arms folded across his broad chest, the muscles in his arms bulging against the fabric of his button-down shirt. Although Streeter’s white hair and worried eyes aged him, his rugged features and fit body made him look as if he’d just tackled the Crucible in boot camp at Parris Island. Ever the Marine, Gates thought.

Streeter’s eyebrow arched, which is exactly how Gates felt. Curious. Suspicious.

“We have to find him. Now,” Gates said.

“BlueSky said they’re doing everything they can to locate him.”

“And the parents?” Gates asked.

“Like I said, they’re the ones who contacted the airline. BlueSky didn’t even know the escort hadn’t made it back on the plane at Denver
until the father called. Then they checked the system—a no-show, for both, on any flights out of Denver. Said the father was irate. Threatened to sue, threatened to have people’s jobs. Apparently, he’s some big shot from Manhattan who can make good on his threats. All I can tell you is that it has made our job even tougher. The BlueSky group is completely lawyered up.”

“It just keeps getting worse. When did the call come in, Eddie?”

“A few minutes ago. Literally.”

Gates looked at the clock hanging on the wall in his kitchen that read 5:46 p.m. Christmas Eve dinner—the one his wife had been planning for weeks and that he would surely have to miss—was scheduled to be served at 6:00 p.m. Yet he knew his wife would understand that it was more important for him to do everything he could to make sure the young boy had a chance to enjoy a holiday meal in the future with his family. Gates felt his friend’s eyes studying him and his worry became focused.

His deputy said, “The kid was supposed to arrive at LAX an hour and a half ago—4:20 p.m. our time. When they got the call from the father forty-five minutes, an hour ago, BlueSky tried locating the escort and decided to call the police when they couldn’t.”

“What took them so long to call us? We’ve lost so much precious time on this already.”

“My sense of this? BlueSky is doing nothing but ass-covering,” the deputy answered.

“Which means we need to get people out to the airport. Pronto. Who else knows?” Gates shot a look at Streeter, who nodded.

“Just you, Chief. And dispatch. They called me and I called you. What do you want me to do?”

“Where are you now?”

“Downtown. At the station.”

“Round up a dozen and head to the airport. I’m on my way too, so don’t do anything until I get there. Alert anyone we’ve got working out there about the situation. Get an APB and Amber Alert out ASAP. I’ll bring the FBI into this immediately and they’ll have someone out there with me. We should be there within fifteen minutes.”

“Geez, Chief. You’re taking this serious.”

“He’s five. This is serious. Deadly serious.”

“I know, I know. I’m just saying—”

“You tell the BlueSky brass to get their asses out to DIA and meet us as soon as possible. We need some answers. Now.”

“Might be hard, being Christmas Eve and all.”

Gates ended the call and stared at his friend, worried about dragging Streeter Pierce into yet another high-profile case. They’d been together on so many of these emotionally charged cases over the years. And they’d solved nearly all of them, sometimes with not so happy endings. Like the case involving Streeter’s wife, Paula. A horrible story.

Gates couldn’t imagine a more tragic set of circumstances, unable to comprehend what he’d do if something so gruesome had happened to his beloved Lenora. He stared at her through the kitchen window, catching her eye. She was carving a ham and stopped midslice. And the outer edges of her eyes sagged, and the sad smile on her beautiful lips assured him she understood. He must go. And she knew that. Without a word, their silent exchange spoke volumes. Work. It was always work. But she supported him because it supported them. And of course, she knew he loved his work.

Gates offered his wife a smile in return.

“Want to join me, friend?” Gates said, stepping off the porch to walk around the house to his car.

“Let’s roll. Aren’t you going to tell Lenora?”

“I just did.”

“Of course.”

The sun was low behind the Rocky Mountains as the two men walked through the snow. Gates chastised himself for not finding the time this week to shovel the sidewalks in the backyard, worried Lenora would feel compelled to shovel the walks herself tomorrow morning before the kids woke up for Christmas, a moment he already sensed he’d miss entirely. Somberly, he led Streeter through the wooden gate to the front.

Gates’s oldest boy bolted out the front door, looking exactly as he had at fourteen. His son was his duplicate—strong, lean, gangly limbed, with short hair, dark skin, and black eyes filled with wonder and worry.

The teen said, “Dinner is almost on the table.”

Gates nodded at the boy, saying, “And make sure you tell your mother how good it is.”

“Dad, it’s Christmas Eve.” The disappointment in his son’s eyes was unmistakable.

“Which means you will lead the dinner prayer, son. You’re the man of the house.” Lenora came through the front door and stood beside her son, her demeanor stoic.

His son’s eyes grew sadder than Lenora’s. And his smile, although shaky, was meant to be reassuring and supportive. “Okay, Dad. Come home soon or Boyd will have picked the ham bone clean.”

Gates smiled. “Love you, Robbie.”

“Love you, too.” And the teen ducked back inside, swiping at his eyes with the back of his hand.

Gates stepped onto the front porch and kissed his wife. “A missing boy. From the airport. He’s five.”

“You need to find him. And bring him home to his mama,” she said, a tear sliding down her brown cheek.

Gates wiped it away with his thumb. “I’m sorry, dear.”

She nodded and turned back to go inside without another word.

Gates stood a moment staring at the closed door, wondering when he’d ever find a life of peace. As if falling back into formation after being called up by a general, Gates took a step back and spun abruptly on his toes, fists at his side, shoulders back, and he walked crisply toward Streeter as if prepared for battle.

Before Streeter went to his truck, he said to Gates, “The boy needs us.”

Gates nodded, appreciating his friend’s reassurance that he was doing the right thing by leaving his family on Christmas Eve. But as always, he used humor to mask his sorrow. “I hate involving you guys. You’re always so pushy and demanding, always standing in the shadows until it’s time to take the bows. Probably don’t have much of a choice, though, considering the child might have been taken on another flight across state lines.”