Lost

“What is it?” she demanded.

He didn’t reply, not until he was inside. How she held on to her temper, she didn’t know; probably because of his appearance. He looked as though he’d been rolled in mud and again in weeds.

“We haven’t found her,” he finally announced.

“Then why do you look as though you did, but can’t find the stomach to tell me?”

“Because we do have…something. Her car.”

Once, when she was thirteen, Buck had punched her in the belly. After she lost her lunch, Michaele had knocked him cold with the empty bottle at his feet, and when he’d come to, she’d vowed that if he ever touched her again, she’d have him arrested, and she and Faith would take their chances with foster care. Jared’s announcement brought that sickening pain back. Only, this time she couldn’t afford to lose it, not in front of him.

“We had a call from Pete Fite,” he continued. “His dogs woke him. When they refused to calm down, he figured he had another coyote or worse after his stock.”

“That doesn’t make sense. Her car at Pete’s place?”

“The tags and VIN number check out. Also…Hell,” he muttered, looking as though he’d prefer to be anywhere but here. “There’s no other way to do this, but say it straight out. Her purse was in there, too.”

Her mind refused to register what he was saying. She heard the words, but their meaning somehow would not pass through the icy morass that had shut down her brain.

“Maybe you’d better sit down,” Jared told her.

“You’ve been searching the woods out there, haven’t you?” she said with dawning realization. “Looking for her body.”

“There’s every reason to assume she’s alive.”

“You searched the woods!”

“We had to!” His equally testy reply reverberated through the house. That seemed to shake him as much as it did her, and although he placed his hands on his hips, he said more calmly, “What you need to take comfort in is knowing we found nothing. There’s no evidence of violence—not in the car, not anywhere.”

That wasn’t comforting at all. “So she was forced. Taken away at gunpoint.”

“Damn it, don’t make this harder on yourself than necessary.”

“You took fingerprints and—what do you call them? Trace samples?”

“We brought in John Box. He got a few prints. As good as they are, I suspect they’re Faith’s—and yours.”

The slight delay in adding her name made Michaele lift her chin. “So now I’m a suspect in my own sister’s disappearance?”

“Of course not. The point is aside from those prints and a little red ore on the driver’s floor mat, it’s as spotless as if she had just washed the thing.”

“She did. Yesterday. She’s very proud of that car. Should be, considering what it cost.” The crass comment made her grimace. “What about the steering wheel?”

“Clean.”

“You mean, except for her prints and mine again, right?”

“No, it’s been wiped down.” That revelation triggered her queasiness again. “The caller.”

“Maybe.”

“What now?”

“I need you.”

They weren’t new words to her. He’d said them before; in fact, they were his usual “call to duty” whenever he phoned to say he had a vehicle in need of a tow. But tonight they sounded different, somehow…and stirred emotions too complex to deal with.

“Good,” he said, when she didn’t respond. His gaze moved over her face. “I was afraid I was going to have to fight you about this. I’m glad you don’t want to go out there. I’ll call Cuddy and tell him to get Bendix. It’ll go over better if he phones—”

She clamped her hand over his on the phone’s receiver, and held him still. “Don’t even think it!” Of course, it was merely a token gesture, but she had to try.

“It’s the best way to go in this case,” he told her.

“That clumsy ox isn’t putting his paws on my sister’s car.”

“Could you please let me save you from having to do this?”

“You didn’t let anyone hide anything from you when you lost Sandy.” His warm breath on her face made her release him and take a step back, but she didn’t yield on her argument. “This is my job.”

“You’ve got the wrong wrecker. You’ll need the rollback for the Firebird.”

Seeing that he knew he’d lost this round, she grew calmer. “Which is at the garage and directly on the way.”

“You’ll wake Buck.”

“Fat chance.”

“I’ll talk to Bendix and watch him like he was on the Ten Most Wanted list. He’ll have to be careful, and under the circumstances I’ll bet he’d have no problem with dropping off the car at your place. C’mon, Mike. For once, don’t turn this into a twelve-round championship fight.”

Is that how he saw this? To her, it wasn’t about stubbornness, it was about being a professional—dependable and efficient. But as she rubbed her sweating hands against her hips, she was reminded of what she was wearing.

“From what I heard today on the police scanner, Bendix’s already had a pretty full day. Give me a minute to change, and I’ll be ready to go.”

As she started for the stairs, he blocked her way with his arm across the doorway.

“No matter how hard you try to prepare yourself, this isn’t going to be like a normal call.”

“I thought you said there’s nothing there?”

“There isn’t. That doesn’t mean it’s an easy scene to look at. Everything reverberates with more questions than answers, as though someone stood there and set a scene.”

“Premeditation.”

“No, sweetheart. Psychological fucking. I don’t care how long you’ve been in the business, a situation like this preys on your mind, starts eating at you from the inside out.”

“Right now, I’m more concerned that Buck might wake up as Bendix drops off the Firebird, and instead of asking questions, take a crowbar to him.”

“Bendix is three times your size—he can take care of himself. Don’t you get it? One Ramey is already missing—I’d rather not go for two.”

It was then that she felt his fear, almost tasted it. “You do think she’s dead,” she whispered.

“Don’t start putting words in my mouth.”

“Don’t treat me like some just-hatched chick. It’s even in your eyes. You’re thinking the worst.”

“No.”

“Why give up so soon? You said yourself that all you have is an abandoned car. Or is it? If there’s something you haven’t told me, I want to know. Now.”

“Will you give it a rest! Somebody is playing a nasty trick. You know it. I know it. But until I understand why and find Faith, I want you safe.”

They were logical words, but as insistent as he sounded, there was something in his expression that kept her from believing him.

“I’m not ready to explain more, Mike.”

She continued just standing there.

“It’s for your own good.”

How she hated that line. “In case you haven’t noticed, I already have one daddy more than I need.”

“If you think that’s how I think of you, you’re in deeper denial than I thought.”

She felt a muscle twitch under her right eye. Embarrassed, she bowed her head. “Not now.”

“You brought it up, not me. Either way, I’m not going to pretend your safety isn’t as important to me as finding Faith.” Before she could interrupt, he removed the arm blocking her. “All right, all right. Go do what you have to do. I’ll be outside. Just understand this—I’m not letting you out of my sight until you’re back here and locked up tight again.”

Afraid he might change his mind, she hurried upstairs.

Once she’d exchanged wreckers as quietly as possible and was driving toward the Fite farm, Michaele’s adrenaline really kicked in. It was one thing to want to save face in what was a male-dominated profession; it was quite another to act the classic masochist-martyr. But how much worse would it be to be stuck at the house with her overactive imagination? No, she needed to see everything Jared had seen before facing her father, let alone everyone else who was bound to stop by, once word got around, asking innumerable questions.

Jared’s car lights remained close behind her. She wasn’t used to such mother-henning. This had to be triggering something about Sandy long buried in him; in any case, she hoped he would snap out of it. Although she wanted and needed friendships—more than was comfortable to admit—if this search stretched out, she was going to shelve the whole concept and focus on protecting herself. That would mean not allowing anyone to know just how vulnerable she was feeling.

Less than a mile down the road, she turned into Pete’s driveway. Considering the hour, the number of vehicles and people that were subsequently illuminated by her headlights was as touching as it was disconcerting. She was comfortable around cops and enjoyed shooting the breeze as much as anyone, but this was overwhelming. There hadn’t been this kind of turnout of law enforcement personnel since young Doc Arnold’s ten-year-old suffered a fatal jet ski accident out on the town lake.

She maneuvered around and between people and vehicles to turn the wrecker on the narrow driveway, since the Firebird was parked sloping toward the woods and would first have to be pulled back onto the roadway. A simple J-hook would be the least intrusive method.

Bruce Griggs, her personal favorite aside from Jared, helped her navigate and get people out of her way. By the time she had the thing set to load, her nerves were back in control.

She jumped down from the cab, aware of the numerous eyes on her.

She’d already greeted a few of the guys, but had made it clear that she wasn’t interested in small talk tonight—or any consoling. As promised, Jared was watching, too, and she didn’t want to jeopardize her right to be there, or anywhere else down the road if the occasion arose.

If it hadn’t been for the license plates and the familiar crystal star dangling from the rearview mirror, Michaele might have tried to convince herself that this vehicle wasn’t her sister’s.

“How you holding up, Little Bit?”

The voice spawning images of mangling gears belonged to Chester “Cuddy” Cudahy, the sheriff of Wood County. As usual the six-and-a-half-foot beef-loving, bourbon-worshipping man had an unsmoked cigar clamped between his stained teeth, and his red face was half hidden by a huge straw Stetson. Stereotypical as he looked, one glimpse of those compassionate, rheumy eyes made her own suddenly burn as though she’d rubbed them after harvesting a field of jalapeños.

“Hey, Sheriff. Sorry you had to be called out tonight.”

The East Texas icon, whose motto was “Keeping the department lean and the county clean,” tugged her close with a gruff gentleness for a brief hug. “Would have come regardless, once I heard this involves your kin, honey.”

“I appreciate that.” Michaele drew a deep breath. “I’ve already asked the chief his opinion of this. Would you mind giving me yours? What do you think is going on?”

Cuddy rolled his cigar between his tobacco-browned fingers. “Be easier to teach a three-legged dog to scratch.”

Jared joined them. “She thinks I’m keeping something from her.”

Michaele shot him a frustrated look. “I said no such thing. Did you tell him about the call?”

“He knows.”

“So she’s been kidnapped, right?” she said to Sheriff Cudahy.

“Possibly.”

“Well, what else could it be?”

“We’re trying to figure that out, Mike. Unfortunately, no one left us a note.”

His gentle chiding forced her to check her impatience. But as she made a complete circle to inspect their surroundings, the sight of the woods on either side of the driveway intensified her convictions. Even on a clear night with a full moon and the floodlights on, Michaele couldn’t get Faith to toss out a bag of trash for fear something might slither across her toes. The idea that she would willingly have come here, let alone walked away, was more than unacceptable. There was no way—not if a wild boar were snorting up her skirt.

“She’s been kidnapped,” Michaele said. “And with every hour the kidnapper is carrying her farther away.”

“Everyone in my department was called in as of a half-hour ago,” Cuddy replied. “Chief, you’ve called your day-shift people in, too, haven’t you?”

“Right.”

Cuddy gave her a “You see?” look. “I’ve also notified the Texas DPS, and all the counties around us have been called, too. Have a little confidence in us, Mike.”

She would love to; the problem was, nothing this close to home had happened to her before. Embarrassed, she nodded to the car. “Are you ready for me to take it?”

The two men exchanged glances, before Cuddy said, “It’s all yours…but you know the drill.”

A vehicle brought in as evidence was to be secured until released by legal authority. That meant she had to keep it locked in the fenced yard behind the garage so that it would be out of reach of anyone and everyone, in case it needed another going over.

“Tattooed on the brain,” she replied.

Michaele went back to work, anxious to get out of there. The place felt…evil. It was probably her imagination; nevertheless, she couldn’t help thinking something bad had happened in or around this car. The aftermath lingered, fouled the air, and sent images of inexplicable things flashing through her mind.

“What?”

Startled that Jared had managed to get so close without her hearing him, she dropped the leather gloves she’d just tugged off, now that the car was secured on the bed of the wrecker. Swearing under her breath, she swept them up off the ground.

“Michaele, something’s going on in that busy head of yours. I want to know what it is. If you’ve seen or heard something—”

“It’s just a feeling.” She noted his blank expression. “Disappointed, huh? What did you think—I spotted something under the chassis? Maybe a message stuck there by bubble gum. Or how about the kidnapper’s wallet, complete with address and photo so you can head straight over to his house and arrest him?”

He did what she’d done to him: he remained silent and just waited.

“Nothing about what went on here was her idea,” she said quietly. “And what I said about kidnapping? Forget it. Anyone who knows us, knows it would break us to pay the most modest of ransoms.”

“I’m thinking more of some kid wanting the Firebird. Maybe he dropped her off a few miles away, then lost his nerve and dumped the car, too.”

“You mean someone connected with a chop shop?”

“I hope not. Those folks can be rougher on the driver than on a vehicle. It’s almost graduation, Mike. You know how the kids are at this stage. They gulp a few beers, they start to get stupid.”

“The purse I saw John take from the car—it’s hers. Can I check it? Maybe I’ll see something noteworthy.”

“Sorry. It’s been bagged.”

Just in case, that’s what it all boiled down to. They would even keep things from her if it suited them—just in case.

“This is crap,” she muttered, and, slapping the gloves against her thigh, she climbed into the cab of the tow truck.

12

5:25 a.m.

Checks and balances on a small-town level resulted in a longer wait than Michaele expected before she could actually leave with the Firebird, and it wasn’t all that much earlier than usual that morning when she finally unlocked the gated back lot at the garage and unloaded Faith’s car. Once that was done, she parked the roll-back up front beside the other tow truck. By then, Jared, who had been observing her from across the street, yielded his post to Jim Sutter, the other day-shift officer, and went inside. As she crossed the street to go to the café behind the station, she waved Jim inside, too.

“I’m just going to get myself a cup of coffee,” she told the youngest of Jared’s officers. “Everything’s taken care of.”

“Chief said to watch you until Buck’s up and behaving himself, Ms. Mike.”

“You let me worry about Buck—and Chief Morgan.”

“You bet. Then I’ll just enjoy the quiet out here a bit longer. Don’t pay me any mind.”

Resigned that the recent academy graduate feared Jared’s ire more than hers, she went to the café. On her way back, she thrust a bag with coffee and a breakfast burrito at the always-hungry cop, before crossing the street and unlocking the front door of the family business.

Not surprisingly, her father barely stirred as she entered. He’d always been a deep sleeper, and the drinking only made that worse. It was the fluorescent lights that finally did it. Once he spotted her, he launched himself straight into the bathroom.

When he reappeared, she had two coffees and his favorite breakfast—biscuits and sausage—on the counter ready for him.

“Come eat,” she said.

Instead, he reached for his hat where it had fallen behind the chair sometime during the night. Slapping it onto his head, he shot her a look steeped in animosity. Even from that distance, Michaele could tell he hadn’t bothered with mouthwash or the toothpaste she kept in there. The lack of air-conditioning intensified the odor.

“My back is killing me,” he snarled. “I should whip your ass for leaving me here all night.”

“You just need to put something in your stomach.”

“What is it?” Circling the counter, he lowered himself onto a stool with the caution of someone respectful of hemorrhoids. “My gut feels like it’s been scrubbed with steel wool. Can’t eat nothing spicy.”

Considering what he regularly primed his insides with, she didn’t doubt it. The only nonliquid she’d seen him ingest in the past twenty-four hours was a package of salty peanuts from the vending machine by the front door. “It’s mild sausage with just a little sage.”

“I hate sage.”

“I hate sage. You love it.”

He leaned closer and peered down at the biscuit and well-done pork patty, a perfect replica of what he liked to eat—when he did eat breakfast. “Looks like shit. I’ll go find something myself. Better yet, I’m going over to Eugene’s. A little hair of the dog’ll fix me right up.”

“No way.” Eugene Folsom ran the body shop directly behind them on Pine Street. He was also Buck’s source for liquor when he couldn’t get it anywhere else, but Eugene’s brew was homemade and lethal. “Forget it.”

Michaele grabbed a handful of Buck’s overalls as he started for the door. The force of his wrenching free sent her flying back into the soda vending machine.

Stifling a moan for the pain in her shoulder, she righted herself and tried again. “We need to talk, Buck.”

“Not in the mood. Jeez, the lights’re still on out there. Why’d you wake me so early?”

“It’s only fifteen minutes earlier than we usually get here—and there’s a reason. Will you please listen?”

Something in her expression must have gotten through to what was left of his functioning brain. With a groan he rubbed at his whiskered jowls. “Got a helluva headache.”

“Aspirin are in the bathroom. Take three, and then if you won’t brush, at least rinse your mouth with mouthwash. Please. Whether it’s a good idea or not, I’m afraid you’re going to be doing a lot of talking today, and that breath of yours could crack steel.”

“You shut your trap or I’ll—”

“Buck!”

Michaele hadn’t heard Jared approach, but there he was in the open doorway glaring at her father.

Buck dropped the arm raised to backhand her. “Hey, Chief. Whatcha know?”

“Michaele’s only trying to sober you up so you don’t make a bigger ass out of yourself than need be.”

“What did I—? Why’re y’all picking on me?”

Stepping closer, only to grimace as he got within reach of Buck’s breath, Jared replied, “I take it she hasn’t had a chance to tell you yet?”

“Tell me what?”

“Go pull yourself together. Rinse out your mouth, too. It’s time to start acting like the head of your family.”

More confused than offended, Buck shuffled toward the bathroom again. “Ain’t one of you making any sense. Wish y’all would just leave me be.”

As he shut the door, Michaele rubbed her sore shoulder, then started rewrapping the food. She knew better than to expect Buck to eat once he was told the news.

“It wouldn’t hurt if you took a bite of something,” Jared told her.

She didn’t want to argue about food. “Did you learn anything new at the station?”

“No. I was in the midst of debriefing everyone and setting up a new game plan for the day, when Buddy yelled that Buck was getting temperamental.”

“That wasn’t temperamental, that was plain old sour. What’s the new game plan?”

“Among other things, I’m putting a call in to the college as soon as they’re open, to notify them about Faith. I’ve also got a call in for the sheriff up in Camp County. Before I talk to him, I need names from you.”

“Whose?”

“Faith’s friends.”

“You know them almost as well as I do.”

“Not only the people around here—those up there. Also teachers she was close to.”

That was rich. “Ever since Faith graduated from high school, I’ve barely been able to keep track of where she’s going, let alone who she’s going with. I did well to pin down her class schedule and get a glimpse of her grades at the end of each semester, and I only managed that because I was writing her tuition checks.”

“I understand. All I’m saying is that the more you can give us, the more thorough we can be. If the Department of Public Safety has to be called in, they’ll want that and more.”

At midnight, she’d wanted the state law enforcement people—shoot, she’d wanted the National Guard; but now the thought of bringing them in meant accepting that Faith might be lost to them. Not quite ready to take that psychological step, she was almost relieved when Buck reappeared.

“Ain’t you got somebody else to harass?” he muttered to Jared.

“Stop it,” Michaele replied. “There’s been bad news. It’s about Faith.”

Immediately her father’s sullen attitude vanished. He looked from her to Jared. “What about her? What’s wrong?”

“She’s missing,” Michaele said. “She never came home yesterday.”

A myriad of emotions played over her father’s face—incomprehension, denial, anger—but the sudden slump of his shoulders told her that he understood. “There’s gotta be…”

When he didn’t finish the statement, Michaele shook her head. “We don’t know the reason. And to complicate things, her car’s been found. It was in Pete’s driveway.”

Buck frowned, though his bloodshot eyes focused on nothing. “Pete Fite? Why would she be staying with him?”

“She’s not. That’s the point. She had no reason to be there.”

“Why, that dirty slug. I’ll tear him in two if he—”

“Pete is incidental in this, Buck.”

“As far as anything or anyone can be ruled out so far,” Jared added.

Michaele shot him a thanks-for-nothing look. “Pete was as upset as I was,” she told her father. “The car was just abandoned there.”

Heaven knew what was going on in her father’s mind. His facial muscles twitched and spasmed.

“Must be with a friend.”

“I don’t think so. I had a call. He made it clear that she wouldn’t be coming back.”

Dazed, Buck stared at her. “Where’s she going?”

“Nowhere that I know of. At least, not willingly. We think someone’s kidnapped her.”

At that troubling pronouncement, he began fidgeting. He dug deep into the pocket of his overalls and came up with a single crumpled bill and several coins. Michaele understood he was checking to see if he had enough to buy a pint of whatever rotgut he could find.

“Don’t even think it,” she intoned. “I need you here. We haven’t managed it in years, and maybe we’ll never do it well, but for once we have to stand together like a real family.”

“Sure. You’re right. But I have to…I’ll be back in a few minutes. Just need a sip of something to wash away the cobwebs.”

“For crying out loud, are you planning on staying comatose so you can’t be asked to identify a body?”

He brushed past her and lurched into the garage. Michaele followed, but it was a waste of time. When he escaped out the back door, she swore. “Don’t you dare touch that Firebird! It’s evidence!”