Operation Blind Date (10 page)

Chapter 15

L
aney smothered another yawn.

It was the full tummy, she told herself as they drove toward the airport. Audra had produced a breakfast that would have fed a dozen. And she so rarely indulged, usually grabbing something quick before heading to work, she had eaten some of everything, and clearly too much.

And even as she thought it she knew she was kidding herself. Her yawning had little to do with that, and everything to do with the fact that she’d lain awake half the night.

That Teague hadn’t seemed bothered at all, while she had only kept from tossing and turning by the knowledge that he’d hear it, should be enough to keep her rambunctious thoughts in check. But instead, here she was, tired but restless, anxious; feeling like a bath-hating dog who knew one was coming.

Teague had been up and out when, after finally dozing off at some after-midnight hour, she awoke. He had apparently had no problem sleeping, she’d thought grouchily. But her mood had softened when, up and ready herself, she had followed the scent of fresh coffee to the kitchen, only to find him working alongside Audra, scrambling eggs in a skillet.

“Always room in my kitchen for a handsome man who can cook,” Audra was saying.

Teague laughed in a way that made Audra smile, and Laney would have forgiven him almost anything for that. “I’m not sure scrambling eggs qualifies, but thank you.”

Audra paused in her mixing of what appeared to be pancake batter. “You will find my girl?”

“We will,” Teague said. “I can’t promise when, but we will. Foxworth doesn’t quit.”

Audra still looked troubled, but nodded.

“And when we do, I want a picture of you both to add to our records. Since it’s obvious where Amber got her looks. And charm.”

He sounded utterly sincere. Audra blushed and reached out to tap Teague on the arm. “Hush, you.”

“Pure truth.”

Yes, Laney thought now, remembering, she would forgive him just about anything for that.

Not that there was anything to forgive him for, other than the fact that he’d slept while she couldn’t. And that was so childish she hated to even admit to the thought. No, he’d been the perfect gentleman last night. Kept to himself, not speaking a word after a quiet good-night. She’d been the one wide-awake, strung tight by his presence, fighting not to let that moment when she’d caught a glimpse of him changing his shirt in the room’s dresser mirror as she’d come back from the bathroom take over every inch of her consciousness.

If he hadn’t been built to perfection, it would be easier, she thought. To her perfection, anyway. He had that lean, rangy yet muscular build she liked. She didn’t know what kind of conditioning the marine corps put people through, but it was obviously effective. And he also obviously hadn’t slacked off since.

And probably had no shortage of women lusting after that body, she told herself.

“You all right?”

Laney sucked in a quick breath; what had her expression looked like as that parade of unwelcome thoughts had marched through her mind?

“Just tired,” she said, hastily adding her first excuse, “all that food.”

“She just kept going,” Teague said with a laugh. “You’d have thought Hobbits were coming to feed.”

The reference caught her off guard, and she laughed.

“You can nap on the flight,” he said. “It really isn’t bad in the back. Or there’s an air mattress stowed somewhere, if you want to stretch out on the floor.”

Laney felt her cheeks heat. Her thoughts really must have been obvious if he was that desperate to get rid of her.

“Maybe I will,” she said, working to sound casual.

The skies had cleared as promised, only a few lingering clouds on the horizon left as a reminder. There were damp spots on the airfield, but no puddles, and except for a couple of small branches and some leaves strewn about, there was little sign of the storm that had passed.

The plane seemed to have weathered it well, although she noticed he took extra time going over every inch of the craft, testing every mechanical system twice, poking, prodding, searching for any damage that might not be apparent at first glance. At last they boarded, and he went through a lengthy checklist inside, also twice, after the storm.

She shelved her pride and took a seat in the back, letting the seat recline as far as it would, and as he’d requested, loosely fastening her seat belt. She hadn’t really expected to sleep, doze maybe, but after they were airborne the steady, low hum of the powerful engine seemed almost lulling.

She awoke to two surprises. They were descending, and there was a soft, knitted throw tucked around her.

That simple thing flooded her mind. How? Had he put the plane on autopilot just to do this? He had also lowered the pleated shades in the side windows, giving her if not darkness, at least the illusion of it. Why had he even thought of it? And how had she, so hyperaware of him, possibly slept through it?

That she was regretting having slept through it set off a new set of alarms in her head.

She sat upright. And chastised herself for being reluctant to shrug off the throw. It wasn’t at all cold in the cabin, but she knew the extra warmth had helped her sleep. And she did feel better. More awake, anyway. Of course, that could be just the thought of him doing something so caring.

And rather intimate.

She made herself tug the throw, made of some soft, snuggly, fuzzy yarn—she suspected Hayley’s fine hand there—free and folded it carefully. Not knowing where it went, she put it on the seat next to her.

“Feel better?”

She looked forward. He had the pilot’s headphones on, so she wondered how he’d known she was awake. Unless he’d been checking on her, which was almost as unsettling as the throw.

“Yes,” she answered, somewhat belatedly.

He turned to look at her for a moment; he had the headset off one ear, rather awkwardly, so they could converse. “We’ll be down in about twenty.”

“I didn’t mean to sleep so long.”

“Obviously you needed it.”

There was nothing in his tone to make her feel so embarrassed, yet she did. As if he’d somehow guessed she hadn’t slept much at all last night. And why. But if that were true, wouldn’t he be sounding...smug, maybe? Like any guy who knew a woman was lusting after him?

She felt her face flush and was grateful for the dimmed cabin. But she always tried hard to be honest with herself, and she couldn’t deny it was true. It was easy for her to recognize, since it happened so rarely. As in never. Not like this, anyway. She’d never reacted to a man like this before.

Of course, she’d never met a man like this before, she thought wryly.

“Want to come up front for the approach? On a clear day like today, it’s beautiful, coming in over the sound. You’ll need to belt in tighter for landing either way, though.”

She hesitated, then schooled herself to calm. This was ridiculous; she wasn’t some teenager who couldn’t hide her emotions.

“Thanks,” she said as she made her way through the narrow space up to the cockpit. She belted in as instructed, then settled in to look around. It was, as he’d said, beautiful. The water reflected a deep blue today, and the islands looked like deep green gems scattered about.

She had just spotted the Naval Shipyard when they shifted direction. In what seemed like just moments they were paralleling the state highway that ran beside the airfield. And then she could see it in the distance, the wide, cleared patch of land, the heavy white lines marking the start of the main runway, and the second runway angling off to one side.

She glanced at Teague. He was intent now, focused, and she stayed quiet. She heard him talk, saw him look up once, scanning, then nodding as he apparently spotted some other aircraft on approach. There was no control tower here, she knew that much, but how things functioned beyond that she had no idea. Obviously there was a standard plan, rules of flight or some such, and she had no doubt Teague was a pro at this.

The touchdown was so smooth she smiled at his skill. He made it seem so easy, so safe.

More quickly than she expected the plane was back at the hangar and she was back on solid ground, tote bag over her shoulder. And surprised at her own feeling of disappointment. She could see how it could become addicting, this very personal kind of flying.

She headed over to put her bag into the SUV as Teague was talking to a young man in coveralls, who apparently helped maintain the craft, keeping it ready to fly on short notice. She had just set the tote on the floor when she heard Teague’s cell ring. From across the hangar she watched as he answered. She couldn’t hear what he said from here, but his demeanor changed entirely; he went from casual to intense in an instant. And as he did, so did she, wondering what he was hearing and if it was related to Amber.

He shoved his phone back in the pocket of his battered leather jacket, said a few more quick words to the young man, then turned on his heel and strode toward her. His car keys were already in his hand and that alone told her something urgent was up. She ran to the passenger side and climbed in, and had her seat belt fastened by the time he got there.

He wasted no time in opening the back hatch, just tossed his go bag over the back of his seat onto the backseat floor, got in, quickly fastened his own belt and started the engine.

She waited until he’d maneuvered the vehicle past the parked airplane and out the hangar door, even though it was winding her up to not ask. But as soon as they were clear and on their way out to the highway, he answered the question she hadn’t asked.

“Quinn has something.”

“About Amber?”

He shook his head. “Her phone. As in where it is. Tyler tracked the cell towers it’s using.”

Laney’s breath caught. “You mean right now?”

He nodded.

“Where?”

“He thinks it’s on a ferry. Headed this way.”

She dived for her own phone to check for messages or texts she might have missed. Nothing.

She looked at Teague again.

“I don’t know,” he said before she could ask.

She didn’t really need an answer. She knew there were only two options. Either Amber was on that ferry, and for some reason wasn’t communicating with her, or someone else was on that ferry. With Amber’s phone. The phone she never let out of her sight.

Laney didn’t like either option. But she’d rather have Amber not talking to her for some voluntary reason than all the ugly possibilities someone else having her phone could mean.

They were out on the highway now, free from the airfield speed limits. Teague hit the accelerator, giving her the one thing that could ease her tension just now.

Speed.

Chapter 16

“T
y was monitoring the phone and he picked it up in Seattle, hitting a tower near the docks,” Teague explained. “Then it dropped out, then reappeared on the other side. Several carriers have a dead zone for a few minutes in the middle of the sound, about halfway through that crossing.”

“So Amber’s phone was in use?”

He nodded.

“Call or text or data?”

“Call.”

She lapsed into silence as she contemplated his answers. She had been amazingly calm so far. And she’d reacted quickly, realizing before he’d said a word that something was breaking. She’d also not peppered him with questions he couldn’t answer, which he appreciated. But then, she was clearly smart enough to figure out the ramifications herself.

When she did finally speak again, it was simply to ask “What now?”

“We head for the ferry landing.” He glanced at the clock in the dash. “We’re still a good half hour away, but Quinn’s probably nearly there. And the ferry’s just docking now.”

“But how will we ever find who has it, if it’s not Amber? There have to be hundreds of people onboard.”

“Maybe not, this time of day, but yeah, it’s going to take some doing.” He tried to reassure her. “Quinn’ll think of something. He always does.”

He dodged a traffic stoppage near an accident on the freeway portion of the road, taking the closest off-ramp and diverting to surface streets. It would be about even, cutting off some distance to compensate for the slower speeds. And he figured it was more important for Laney to have a sense of movement. Sitting in a traffic backup would probably drive her crazy just now.

Laney was silent again, and he could only guess at what she was thinking. He doubted this was as simple as Amber not speaking to her lifetime best friend for some reason. He couldn’t imagine anyone being that mad at Laney. She was just too nice, too loyal, too caring, too...many things. Admirable things. Attractive things.

And there he went again.

His mind flashed back to those moments aboard the plane, when he’d turned it over to autopilot and gone back to put that blanket on her. He’d been seized with a fierce wish that he had the right to always look after her like that, that she was his to care for. And the moment he’d thought that, he’d been blasted with the inner realization that if that were true, the reverse would be, too, and he had a feeling he had no idea what it would be like to have a woman like Laney care about him the same way.

Would it be like Quinn and his Hayley? That rock-solid, unwavering steadiness spiced with a passion that electrified the air around them? Could it be?

He should remember last night
,
he told himself ruefully. The atmosphere in that room last night had been pretty darn charged.

No, forget last night. Stay focused, Johnson.

He glanced at her as they hit a stoplight. She was frowning. As he watched the frown deepened, and she grimaced.

“What?” he asked, wondering if she’d thought of something.

She gave a half shake of her head. “I was just trying to think if there was anything I said or did that could make Amber so upset she’d just walk away without a word.”

“The kind of friends you were? Not likely.”

“That’s what I thought. We shared everything. We were each other’s first call when anything happened, good or bad. We laughed together and cried together. She was my sounding board, and I hers. We didn’t always agree, but we always listened.”

Hey, Teague, got a minute? I need a sounding board.

Drake’s oft used phrase echoed in his head. How many times had he heard it? Usually about some project or idea the guy had in mind, sometimes wild and silly, sometimes downright brilliant. It had been Drake who had thought of a way to rig a movable tent over the working end of the wall they’d been building, giving them some relief from the elements, Drake who had thought of making a stand for his tablet computer by simply cutting a groove in a two-by-four, Drake who had used forks jammed handle-first into the sand to hold the wiring diagram for a broken down vehicle between the tines.

He’d heard it so many times it had become almost a joke between them.

“Teague? Are you all right?”

So much for his poker face, he thought. Usually they ragged on Liam for having the worst of all of them.

“Just thinking,” he said as the light changed and they moved on.

“About?”

“Not Amber,” he said, meaning to be reassuring. Then he realized she probably wanted to think he was completely focused on her friend at all times. Which he should be, he told himself sternly.

“I just meant...I was thinking about my best friend. He was always saying that, that he needed a sounding board.”

“Was?”

“He died.”

“I’m sorry. Truly. What was his name?”

He hesitated. He never talked about this. But she needed the distraction. And the thought that she could very well end up in the same ugly boat spurred him out of his reluctance.

“Drake Hansen,” he said. “But everybody called him Edison.”

“Why on earth?”

“Because he was always coming up with brilliant ideas. Sometimes a little twisted, but always brilliant. He could solve anything.”

She smiled at that. “Sounds handy to have around.”

“He was.”

“What happened, Teague?”

He
really
never talked about that. “He died. I told you that.”

“But not how.”

“Does it matter?”

“Obviously it does to you.”

His hands tightened around the steering wheel. White-knuckle tightened. Nearly as tight as his jaw.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean to pry. I just thought you might actually want to talk about it.”

“The woman’s answer to everything? Talk it to death?”

She drew back, shifted in her seat, but said nothing. His sharp words hung in the silence, hammering at him as if they’d been recorded and played back in a loop.

He sighed inwardly. “That was out of line. I apologize.”

“My mom says that when you talk about someone who’s gone, it’s not only a way of keeping them with you, but that they know somehow that you’re still thinking of them, still love them.”

He slid her a quick, sideways look. It was the most fanciful thing he’d heard in a while, and he’d left the capacity for that somewhere in Afghanistan. Along with the belief that dead was anything but dead.

“Nice idea,” he managed to say, glad she’d apparently accepted his apology, knowing she was only trying to help, and still feeling guilty for the way he’d snapped at her.

“So what happened with your Edison?”

He braced himself. She might be sweet, kind and loyal, but she was no pushover, and clearly could be tenacious when she had to be.

Or wanted to be.

“An RPG,” he finally said. “It took out our personnel carrier.”

It took her a moment. “Afghanistan.”

“Yes.”

“And you were with him?”

“Yes.” He was done with this. He had to stop her. “It took more pieces off him than we could find. He bled out in my arms before the medic could even get to him.”

She paled, and while he was sorry for the image he’d painted for her, it did the job. She shivered, but she didn’t speak. Not until they saw the first sign for the ferry landing.

Then, as if she felt she had to acknowledge it before the shift back to her own problem, she said quietly, “So you carry that, too. Along with your sister.”

“It’s different. That was war.”

“A different kind of guilt. But still...” She drew in a deep breath. “I was wrong. There is no way to thank you guys enough. Not if we did it a thousand times a day.”

“Laney—”

“And I’m sorry about Edison. Sorrier for you, he’s not hurting anymore.”

“I don’t want your pity.”

Again he snapped at her as she poked at festering places he usually kept deeply buried.

He’d apparently found her breaking point, because her voice turned icy. “Pity and sorrow are not the same thing, Teague Johnson. And if you can’t accept someone’s heartfelt sympathy, can’t take someone hurting because you’re hurting, then you’re as crippled as he would have been had he lived.”

To his shock, her scathing indictment stung more than even the much more distant memory of Drake’s death. He told himself she was wrong, but couldn’t quite vanquish the nagging thought that if she hadn’t been on target it wouldn’t have jabbed at him so hard.

Before he could respond, which was probably a good thing since he couldn’t think of a damned thing to say, he spotted Quinn’s car in the parking lot for walk-on passengers. And next to it was a plain, dark blue sedan that screamed unmarked police car to him. He spotted an empty spot a row away and quickly headed the SUV into it.

Before they even got out, Hayley was there waiting; she’d apparently been watching for them. She went quickly to Laney.

“No sign of Amber,” she said quickly, answering the obvious first question before they could ask.

He was sure Laney had to be disappointed, that she must have been hoping even if it seemed unlikely, but she hid it well.

“The phone?” Teague asked.

“That, we have. And,” she added, putting a gentle hand on Laney’s arm, “the person who had it.”

Laney visibly sucked in a quick breath at that.

“Who?”

“We’re still working on that,” Hayley said. “What I can tell you is he’s just a kid. Maybe sixteen.”

Teague frowned; that didn’t fit. Not with anything.

“What?” Laney asked, reading something in Hayley’s expression.

“He thought he was being accused of stealing the phone.” Hayley glanced at Teague. “Detective Dunbar is here, helping us out with this.”

That explained the unmarked car, he thought.

“He helped us on a prior case,” Hayley explained to Laney. “He’s a good man, a good cop.”

“So because he’s a cop, the kid thought he was busted?”

Hayley nodded. “So he was maybe more forthcoming than he might have been otherwise.”

“Forthcoming with what?” Laney demanded.

Teague saw surprise flicker across Hayley’s face at Laney’s tone, and wryly thought he was to blame for that. He was the one who’d put her in such an edgy mood.

Again Hayley touched her arm. Laney let out a breath. “Sorry. But—”

“I know. What he said was that a man gave him the phone and paid him to use it. To send texts the guy had already written out, at set times. Indefinitely.”

Teague let out a low whistle. “Clever.”

Laney had gone pale. She’d gotten there as quickly as he had.

“The texts really weren’t from Amber.”

Hayley didn’t try to soften the truth. “We’re not sure yet where hers ended and the kid started, but no, the last ones were not.”

“But they were enough to make the police think she was alive and well,” Teague said. “And keep them off his back.”

The three of them stood there for a silent moment as Laney and Teague absorbed the ramifications of the new information. There was no doubt any longer that something was very wrong. Amber was in serious trouble.

If, Teague thought grimly, she was even still alive.