Too Close to Home (14 page)

Tom rubbed a finger across his lips. “That’s kind of weird. Teenagers use computers all the time. IM, email, seems like there would be more on their home computers. But if Sam couldn’t find anything, then there wasn’t anything there to find. She’s the best.”

Sam flushed at the praise. “Thanks, Tom. I have a feeling I’m not looking in the right place. I’m going to try something else.”

“Like what?” Tom’s raised brow expressed his interest.

She looked at Connor. “You remember me telling you about remote access and how, if you had the right codes, you could gain entry to any computer?”

“Yep.”

“I think this guy has done that somehow. Gained access to their computers from somewhere else, then erased his steps. It could be that the person who was after them knew what to tell the girls, to get rid of any trace on the computer, but I can’t think of any way he could have done that without raising a red flag.” Tom already knew this, but she explained in simple, non-computerese for the rest of the group. “Now, in comparing the Event Viewers from all of the computers, I’m able to see the record of when the machines were accessed and by whom. It’s just a really tedious process. I’m sorry it’s taking me so long.”

“Do you want some help checking all the computers for a common denominator?” Tom offered.

“Maybe. I’ll let you know. You need to get some rest.”

Tom shrugged. “I’ll be all right. Big brother’s work is never done.”

“Tom’s putting his younger brother and sister through college, working two, sometimes three, jobs,” Samantha said. “If he doesn’t slow down, he’s going to burn out.”

“That’s admirable,” Connor said. “What’re your other jobs?”

“Newspaper route when I’m in town, and I job share a security guard position at First National Bank.”

“Whoa. That’s a lot.”

“Tell me about it. It’s a shame I can’t split myself down the middle and be in two places at once.” He gave a wry chuckle. “Chelsea, my sister, after a rocky start, chose to be a nurse, thank goodness. Eventually that will pay her bills. She graduates in December. Ben’s got two more years at the business college. Then I can relax.”

“How is Chelsea?” Samantha knew the girl was having some issues related to a baby she’d given up for adoption two years ago. Waffling between wondering if she’d done the right thing or not.

“She’s better. Doing great in school. I’m proud of her.”

Connor’s phone rang. Andrew got up to look out the window one more time. Dakota kept his eyes on Jamie, whose face flushed every time he looked at her.

“Text message reports are back. Do you have a fax machine?”

“Of course.” She gave him the number and sat back to wait.

12

Connor scanned the reports. Miranda’s text messages were available for the last six days. Today was Saturday; she’d disappeared Tuesday. There’d been six texts on Monday, twelve on Tuesday, and then they stopped. They’d been sent and received from a total of four different numbers.

Three of the numbers turned out to be high school friends. The other one was from a prepaid phone that was now disconnected, of course.

Connor read through the messages. One caught his interest. “Will meet U 2nite. Mall Food Court. 7:00. Bringing a friend.”

The response: “Cool. I have ur pic. Will find u.”

“C U then.”

Dakota said, “That could be the one we need. Just looking at it doesn’t cause me any great concern, but knowing that she’s interested in modeling and the person has her picture . . . hmm.” He looked at Connor. “We need to find the friend she took with her. We already know it wasn’t the boyfriend. Mr. Petroskie has an airtight alibi for Tuesday night.”

“Where was he?” Samantha wanted to know.

Andrew answered, “Church youth group. They were bowling. He’s got about thirty witnesses who say he was there the whole time. I even got some pictures date and time stamped with him in them. He’s a jerk, but he didn’t have anything to do with Miranda’s disappearance or death.”

“One of the other phone numbers is in the name of a Mr. Vincent Mabry. I bet his daughter is Alyssa Mabry, the one Jenna mentioned.”

Samantha picked up the phone. “One way to find out. What’s the number?”

Jenna opened the door to let Patty into the house. Once again her father was out chasing the bad guys, her grandfather snored on the couch, and her gram had left to run errands. Patty’s car keys dangled from her fingers, and Jenna felt a pang of envy shoot through her. When would her dad ever let her get her license? Part of her understood his reluctance. She would admit she hadn’t been the easiest person to get along with in the last four years, but still . . .

“Hey, Jenna,” Patty rapped knuckles against Jenna’s forehead, “you in there?”

Jenna forced a laugh. “Sorry. Just wishing I could drive.”

“Yeah, it would be nice.”

“Come on upstairs, I want to show you something.”

“I thought we were meeting the boys at the club.” Some church had gotten together and built a place for teenagers to hang out. No alcohol, no smoking, but cool music and lots of video games, pool tables, a basketball court, volleyball area, and cheap “teen” food. It was a great place to meet— until the real fun began after dark.

“Just come upstairs for a minute.”

Patty gave a loud sigh, but followed her up the stairs.

Jenna didn’t bother telling Patty she had more fun at Teen Jam than she did at the parties that made her feel . . . like a piece of meat. Groping hands, ugly propositions, the alcohol she didn’t like, the smoke that choked her and permeated her clothes and hair. Ugh.

But she put up with it because it made her somebody in school, one of the in crowd. Not the poor losers who walked the halls alone or were the butt of cruel practical jokes and taunting harassment. She shook her head. No way would she ever allow herself to be put in that situation.

Jenna went to the computer and pulled up the IM she’d been typing. “This is 2COOL2BLV.”

Patty rolled her eyes. “Oh please, what kind of dumb screen name is that?”

“I know, but he’s so nice. Look. Here’s his picture.” A few clicks later and the image of a young man filled the screen.

“Ooooh, he’s yummy.” Patty moved in closer. “How old is he?”

“Twenty-two.”

“And he’s interested in you?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Have you used the webcam? Made sure it was really him?”

“No, he says he doesn’t have a cam.”

Patty flung herself across the twin bed, pushing Jenna’s backpack out of the way. “Then I wouldn’t talk to him anymore. He could be some really old guy, like thirty-five, fat and bald or something.”

Jenna shrugged. “I don’t get that vibe from him.”

“Well, I sure wouldn’t meet him anywhere.”

“Well . . .”

Her friend bolted into a sitting position and eyed her, horrified. “Jenna, you wouldn’t!”

“I don’t know. I’m thinking about it. He’s just so . . .”

“So what?”

“There.”

“’Scuze me?”

Jenna stood, paced from one end of her room to the other. “He gets me.”

“And I don’t?”

“You’re my best
girl
friend. And I want a boyfriend, but I’m just not interested in any of the guys at school. They’re so completely immature it’s not funny.” She looked back at the computer screen. “But he’s not. He’s real. We discuss Shakespeare, for crying out loud, the latest movies, the future.”

“What about Bradley Fox?”

Jenna felt her face heat. “Yeah, I like him, but he won’t give me the time of day.”

“It’s because he goes to church and all. We’re not the kind of girls Bradley wants to hang around with. Our ‘sinfulness’ might rub off on him.” Sarcasm dripped as she wiggled her fingers around the word.

Jenna frowned at her friend. “I don’t get that impression. He speaks to me when we’re in the hall, and when we were on that field trip, he sat with me on the bus. We had a good talk.”

“Huh. Well, all I know is, he acts like I’m contagious or something.”

Shrugging, Jenna kept her thoughts to herself. She slid a glance at her friend and nodded to the computer. “Anyway, this guy, he even said I have potential as a model.”

That caught Patty’s attention. “Wait a minute. That’s my thing, not yours.”

“I know, but you made it sound so fun. And if he thinks I might be able to do it . . .” She dug around in her dresser and pulled out a phone. “He even sent me my own phone so that we could stay in contact.” She didn’t tell Patty about the other envelope she’d received from him. She didn’t want to tell anyone about that, yet.

“What’s his name?”

“Danny.”

13

Arms crossed, Connor leaned back in the pew as the preacher delivered his sermon. He still hadn’t figured out how he’d managed to land here in this seat on this particular morning. He had a case to solve. And yet he’d agreed to come because Andrew had arranged for him to get up and talk to the teenagers about being extra careful, on their guard, both on the street and the internet. Now, he was finished and back in the pew, wondering if any of what he’d said had sunk in.

He squirmed again and Jenna shot him an aggravated look before turning her attention back to the preacher. Sitting to his left, Samantha cut him a questioning glance. Jamie, on the other side of Samantha, watched them all, bemusement written all over her.

Connor huffed and stilled. And tried to pay attention. How did Andrew suffer this week after week? His friend sat in front of him, arm around Angie who snuggled up under her new husband’s shoulder. Envy speared him. Yet, what right did he have wishing for companionship when he didn’t even make the time to spend with his own daughter? Shouldn’t she come first?

He closed his eyes, mental fatigue gripped him. Think about something else. He focused his mind on the case, resisted the urge to wiggle into a more comfortable position . . . and thought.

Alyssa Mabry had been out of town on a school field trip eight hours away. They’d sent local law enforcement to pick her up, but due to car trouble, they’d been delayed. However, they’d just received word that she’d be back tonight. They would have to wait until then to see what she knew about who Miranda was meeting that day. In his mind, he outlined the questions he wanted to ask her.

Connor shifted subtly, then peeked. No one looked at him that time. He closed his eyes again.

How was he going to get this guy? What was his motive? Find pregnant teens, kidnap them, wait for the baby to be born, then kill the mother?

Then sell the babies.

Black market babies.

But what had happened with Miranda Abrams?

Serena had been specific that she’d died from blood loss due to a botched abortion. If they
wanted
pregnant girls, why would they have aborted her baby?

Unless she’d had the abortion before going to meet the killer, not realizing she was signing her own death warrant in more ways than one. If it truly was the babies they were after and she’d arrived at the meeting bleeding, sick, and needing a doctor because she’d gotten rid of it . . . and these sickos were furious at the loss . . .

However, the first two girls who’d been found dead hadn’t been pregnant before they’d been snatched. At least there’d been nothing to indicate that they were. So that theory didn’t make much sense.

Connor’s eyes popped back open and scanned the middle section where the church’s youth sat in a cluster. Dark heads, towheads, reds, blonds. All of them. Innocent. Unaware. Unexpecting. Never thinking that such tragedy could be right around their corner no matter how many times they were told, lectured to, about the evil that even right now stalked them.

It chilled him to realize his next call could be for one of them. Shuddering at the thought, he looked at the front of the church. Straight at the empty cross hanging behind the preacher.

Empty.

As in not there anymore.

So where was he?

Andrew believed he was everywhere. Connor could quote the lines almost as well as Andrew did. That Christ had suffered, taken on the sins of the world, died as a sacrifice so others wouldn’t have to spend eternity in a place called hell, and risen again, defeating death so all could have the opportunity to live in heaven.

Connor had heard it all before. He’d grown up in the church, hearing the stories about a loving God. His parents were strong believers. He got the impression Samantha believed the same. But his wife, Julia, had professed to be a Christian, she’d gone to church, yet she’d been a gossip, whining and complaining when she didn’t get her way, bitter when she was not elected to some church committee she’d wanted to serve on. And yet, Samantha’s words and actions matched up, even in the face of searching for a killer. She believed God was in charge, was with them, leading them.

Connor wondered a little bitterly if the dead and missing girls had thought God was with them. Would somehow miraculously save them from their kidnapper/killer. Had they died with a plea on their lips, felt betrayed by him when they realized there was no escape? No hope? Or had they believed that he would protect them even to the very end?

As far as Connor was concerned, God had done a pretty lousy job all the way around.

The Agent watched from his perch across the street. Boss wasn’t happy. They were getting too close even though they might not realize it, and Boss wanted them stopped.

And whatever Boss wanted, Boss got.

It was as simple as that.

The church service ended and the doors opened. People filed out and The Agent got ready, looking for his prey. The rifle felt natural, his position good. And no little kid to interrupt him this time.

He could see them, but they couldn’t see him. Confusion would ensue at the first shot, allowing him time to get away.

Perfect. He pulled the butt of the gun up to his shoulder, lowered his head to look through the scope. Samantha Cash, Andrew West, Connor Wolfe.

Or . . . pretty little Jenna Wolfe? No, she might be useful later.

Or maybe someone totally unconnected to the case? A perfectly innocent bystander. The heavyset mom trying to keep up with the three rambunctious children circling her legs?