Hidden pieces, p.13
Hidden Pieces, page 13
In the living room, he laid open the files and stared at them as he slid the blade across the soft pulp of the block until it began to take shape into a table. With each pull against the wood, the thin sheaths floating off, he felt conflicted at letting even a moment pass of not being out there. He couldn’t lose the feeling of being useless. He glanced at his cell for Abby’s return call. Its silence mocked him.
He stared at the board. It yielded no secrets. It was just a whiteboard with a bunch of names and squiggly arrows going nowhere. With his gun on the coffee table next to the knife, he laid back, propped a pillow under his head, and switched his attention to the forensics report. Feathers. There were a few on the outside, but several in the pocket. Had they been planted to get his attention? Was it a coincidence? A game? Did Wallace factor in, or was he missing something?
* * *
Jax bolted upright at pounding on the front door and squinted at the sunlight streaming through a crack in the front window blinds. Shit. He’d dozed off.
He rolled off the couch wearing his uniform from last night, the report sailing to the floor along with the wood shavings. Falling asleep was the last thing he’d expected to do. He slapped his tongue against his teeth. His stomach growled. He hadn’t touched his lasagna or much else in the way of food since yesterday. Along with that and the lack of sleep the previous night, it was no wonder he’d passed out.
He walked to the entry and caught the scent of his day-old sweat. He looked through the peephole and winced.
Abby Turner…no, Kanekoa now, stood on the step, a manicured hand on her hip, black hair framing her oval face, her skin the shade of almonds. A trace of blush and mascara accented her rounded cheekbones, a trait of her Polynesian father. Her sharp green eyes belonged very much to her red-haired Irish mother who’d never liked Jax much. Her light gray pantsuit fit her just right. He glanced at the wrinkles in his shirt and ironed them with his broad hands, and then opened the door.
She pushed past him. “Finally. What’s wrong?”
Jax moved to avoid getting run over and smoothed his hair standing on end. “What do you mean? I asked you to call, not come over.” How did she manage to look so good? So normal? How was that even possible after what they’d gone through?
“You called in the middle of the night saying it’s urgent. What did you think I’d do?” Abby’s eyes were glued to what littered the coffee table. Her gaze skimmed the whittling project and rested on the gun. Her eyes narrowed, then softened. “Is there something you need to tell me?”
He picked up the glass of water from the table and finished it. “It’s not what you think.” Since they’d both always housed their guns in a safe when they were home, and she knew of his depression, Abby must be thinking the worst. The worst was yesterday morning. “Like I said, you only needed to call.”
“Obviously, that’s not true. Did you ever call that counselor?”
No counselor could bring back their daughter. But he had gone for one session. Long enough to hear that his desire to finish the dollhouse didn’t mean he was crazy. “Don’t need anyone trying to shrink my head.” He carried the glass to the kitchen. “Did you?”
She followed him. “Yes. He’s helped.”
“I can see that. You look amazingly well-adjusted.” He almost succeeded in keeping the edge out of his voice. It hurt that she’d left. She’d wanted another child after Lulu, and he couldn’t give that to her. His heart had closed. Shriveled was more like it. Seeing her again now had his stomach in knots.
Her eyes scanned him on her way to the refrigerator, where she opened the door and inspected the few contents. “I’ve kept moving to survive. Based on the mess out in the living room, you’re still working on her dollhouse.”
He didn’t answer.
“When are you going to let that go?” She opened and closed the empty crispers. “You have to find a way to let go of the pain—at the very least, you have to find a way to live with it.”
“Like you did so easily.” He set the glass down with a sharp clank on the counter. She’d come here worried about him, and he was being unforgivable. “Look—”
She slammed the fridge door and crossed to the pantry. “That’s not fair,” she said before he could get an excuse out.
He crossed his arms over his chest. She couldn’t be idle for two seconds. Always had to be looking. Inspecting. Keeping her hands in motion. “Yeah, that’s right. It’s not. I just sometimes forget how good you are at separating from your emotions. Everything in its place.”
Her lip twitched. “Why did you call?’
She didn’t take the bait. Abby was a far better person than he was about this whole mess. Better to just get to it. He had to think of Allison. “I need an assist on a case.”
She tucked a piece of her hair behind her ear. “Okay.”
He had her attention. “I understand the FBI has a division that tests feathers.”
“Among other things.” She wrinkled her brow. “What kind of case you working?”
“Remember Allison Krueger? Emily’s kid?”
“Of course. Lulu and I would see them at the grocery store sometimes. Lulu adored Allison. She’d share her Skittles with her.”
A pang hit Jax’s chest. He hadn’t known of Allison’s kindness to his daughter. “She’s been abducted.”
“Shit.” Abby’s face fell. She caught herself and shook it off. Personal feelings would only cloud their judgment. They both knew that. They needed to act like the law enforcement pros they were.
“We found her backpack.”
Abby nodded, waiting. It wasn’t only that she was good at compartmentalizing; she was good at everything. Trudy and Jameson had been right to tell him to pull Abby into the matter. His brain always did better when paired with hers.
He brought her up to speed and handed her the forensics report. “I think they could be connected to the case Jameson and I worked, back in the day. The two girls.” He waited.
Abby nodded. “I remember.”
“These look pretty much the same to me.”
Abby squinted at him. “You connected these two cases based on the feathers?”
She sounded like his old partner. “Hoping you can tell me. They look identical to the naked eye. If they are, then that killer could be back.”
“That’s a stretch.”
“It’s a similar MO.” He gave her the bullet points. “It’s also the anniversary of the first case. I’m telling you, the presence of those feathers is no coincidence.”
She gave him a small smile. “Then I’m happy to have my department take a look.”
He nodded. “Appreciate that. I’ve been in touch with Jameson, and he’s transferring the old evidence from the warehouse. It might already be over to you.”
“Perfect.”
His shoulders relaxed a little. They were good at talking work. Besides being Lulu’s parents, it’s what they’d done best. Touching on emotions had always gotten them into trouble. “Thank you.”
Abby rested her hip against the counter and opened the cupboard next to her. “So where are you on locating Allison?”
He tried not to look at her lips, with the hint of the plum lipstick she always wore. Even on the first day they met at a Blazers basketball game—standing in line for a hot dog, no less. “I’ve got two suspects in custody, and I’m expecting my search warrant any time for Glenn Hill Farms.”
Abby closed the cupboard and pushed herself away from the counter. “Who are the suspects?”
“The leadman, Wallace, and his nephew, Rick Johnson.”
She stiffened, her expression tight. “Vince Wallace?”
His shoulders tensed. He’d seen that look before. “Yes. He’s the boss at Glenn Hill, and Rick’s his nephew, who is also an unregistered sex offender with a history of messing with young girls.” Jax laid out the rest of what he had on Wallace, some of it conjecture. “There were also drugs found in Allison’s bedroom that she told her mom she was holding for someone. Not sure if or how that relates to them, yet, but I’m working all the angles.”
“You just said you think there’s a connection to the old case. How could Rick or Wallace be tied to that?”
“Based on age alone, Rick couldn’t be. But Wallace is plenty old enough. I forgot to mention, that backpack was found in Wallace’s car.”
“Was he living in the area twenty-five years ago?”
“According to records, yes. And he’s been non-cooperative from the beginning, which says he’s hiding something.”
She shook her head.
“What?”
“You can’t raid the farm, and Mr. Wallace needs to be released, immediately.”
His brow wrinkled. “What are you talking about?”
“It’s connected to my work.”
“And?”
“And part of why I went back to the bureau was because there was drug trafficking suspected in Misty Pines.”
The list of things he’d been oblivious to never stopped. “Glenn Hill Farms is involved?”
She nodded.
That explained Wallace’s resistance to letting them search the premises. “Even more reason for Wallace then to be in custody.”
“You don’t get it. It took us a while to figure out where the drugs were coming from, but we did, and I’ve been working the Glenn Hills aspect for the past two months. We believe trucks are bringing the drugs in from Mexico, and the farm is turning them around and moving those same drugs out with the produce as their cover into other areas of the state. Wallace appears to be at the core, which means he’s the key to bringing the operation down. That’s why he needs to go back there.”
“Finding Allison takes precedence. After what you’ve just told me, I’m even more convinced that farm needs to be searched.”
“No.”
He glared. “The Abby I know wouldn’t choose drugs over a child.”
“I’m choosing all the children. Do you know how many kids die of overdoses a year? Thousands, Jax. And Wallace. He’s one of many sons of bitches that target them. I want to nail that bastard to a wall. His entire operation has to come down to do that.”
“I can’t agree when Allison is the kid here and now in mortal danger.”
“I don’t know about that. At least as far as Wallace or the farm are concerned. I have someone on the inside. They haven’t reported anything suspicious on the property.”
“Who?”
“Angelique.”
That’s why she was so ingrained and likable. “Her name’s come up, but have you physically been on that farm? It’s huge with numerous buildings. One person inside might miss something. And all you’re doing is confirming that it’s not a stretch to think Wallace could have been involved in a girl’s murder years ago, or an abduction today, the way he tends to buck the law. He’ll remain in custody. I need time to get out on that farm.”
“I won’t allow it. Let Wallace go and let me do what I need to do.”
The burning sensation had returned in his chest. “If those feathers are connected, and Wallace is the connection between Allison and my old case, then I damn well can’t let him know where I’m at on the investigation until I have a clue what I’m up against. He could be the killer I’ve been wanting to catch all of these years.”
She frowned, her eyes reflecting an all-too-familiar sadness. She didn’t believe him. “We’re this close to nailing him for trafficking.” She held her hand up with a sliver of distance between her thumb and index finger. “I’m not going to let you screw this up over some notion.”
“It’s not a hunch, Abby. That backpack is physical evidence. A snuff tin in her pack has his prints on them. Not to mention, we found a bloody rag halfway up Allison’s driveway—a rag that he admitted was his. None of those things are a fabrication of my imagination.”
“I didn’t say any of that.”
“You didn’t have to. You saw the gun on the coffee table, and you took my call as desperation, and now you’ve made assumptions about my ability as a cop.”
“Jax, please. I’m also aware you don’t know when to quit and how it gets you into trouble.”
“If that brings Allison home, so be it. I will not let anyone go based on your say-so. If Wallace goes back to the farm and starts hiding evidence, any traces of Allison could be long gone. I can’t take that risk. I’m holding him until I get my warrant and know for myself.”
“Can’t let you do that, Jax.” She was all business. No softness. Nothing of his Abby showing. It was more than he could bear.
They locked eyes for a long minute. She didn’t yield. All he wanted was a sign that she got it. This search meant everything to him. He had to get it right. Saving Allison wouldn’t make up for losing Madeline, but it would do something for his heart. If it was related, it would give justice to Elena and Madeline for the wrongs against them. He could do that. Abby had to understand.
Instead, she pulled herself up to her full height. “I’ll expect to see Wallace back at Glenn Hill by oh-nine-hundred hours.”
He stood his ground. “That’s right. You’re a federal agent, after all. Your job has always been the most important. That’s why you ran out on me the minute they wanted you back.”
“I couldn’t sit around here and be torn up with you anymore. Besides, you didn’t need me for consolation. You had your dollhouse obsession, and there was no room for me in your world.”
He swallowed the lump in his throat. “We lost our daughter.”
“And I was devastated, too.”
“It showed. You look really heartbroken now.” He regretted the words the moment they’d left his mouth. “I didn’t mean—”
Her jaw twitched. “I cry for her every day, Jax. I’m just not all tied up in my own self-pity like you.”
The words stabbed him. “What are you tied up in exactly?”
She sighed, indicating she’d had enough. It wasn’t like they’d ever solve it. The crevasse was far too wide for that. “Release Wallace, and don’t go anywhere near that farm again.”
“I’ll decide that, not you.”
She stopped. “I’ll have Angelique keep eyes on the inside. It’s the best I can do. But I will tear you to pieces if you mess with me on this.”
He strode to the door and swung it open. “I’ll wait to hear from you on what Jameson sent over.”
“Wallace gets released, or it’ll be a long wait.”
He glared his refusal as she marched past him. He slammed the door behind her. Who in the hell did she think she was? She couldn’t tell him what to do.
Yes, she could.
The powerlessness had him off balance. At least Abby had someone on the inside watching for him now. Would that be good enough?
He strode to the whiteboard and grabbed the eraser. Then flung it against the front door, watching it fall apart.
Chapter Nineteen
Elena woke the next morning, her eyes burning from a restless night. With the discovery of the opal, she worried now that Steven had gotten to Allison and that she’d ridden in his SUV—the one he’d sold yesterday morning. A coincidence, perhaps. But what if he was covering his tracks?
State law mandated that she report child abuse. She was also obliged to report her brother or any patient if she thought they might do harm to themselves or another. She wasn’t sure either of those scenarios applied to this situation. What she did feel certain of was calling Daniel, or the authorities could do more harm than good.
While she didn’t know Steven’s intentions if he did, in fact, come into contact with Allison, no one knew him better than she did. And no one could track him better than she could since she’d been taking care of him for so long. She rubbed her eyes. She also knew he distrusted the authorities, who he considered “useless” for not finding Madeline in time. Any attempts by them would make him dig in deeper.
Still, she weighed the options again and again. Report him? Not report him? Report him? Not?
She could lose her license if she truly believed Steven was involved in the abduction of a child, but that wasn’t the worst of it. If her lack of reporting resulted in Allison being harmed, Daniel would never forgive her. She’d never forgive herself.
The visitation weekends they’d spent together when Allison was a little girl were always in the back of her mind. How Allison’s freckled face and gap-toothed smile greeted her and Daniel when they woke. She’d crawl into bed with them and snuggle in. Allison would turn and hug Elena like only a child could, breaking down the walls of protection she’d built to survive. Elena’s heart squeezed.
If anything happened to her stepdaughter, she’d deserve Daniel’s wrath and the ostracization from him and everyone else that came with it.
Which meant she couldn’t get it wrong. She had to solve this mystery and find out if Steven was involved. If he was, she had to bring Allison home safely. She had the best chance of doing that if she did it on her own.
She threw back the covers and got up, thinking of her last visit to Steven’s apartment and whether she’d missed a clue of where he’d gone. The dirt in the shower had bothered her the most. It could be from a beach. Clam digging at night, maybe. He’d never shown interest in that, but she had to entertain all possibilities. Or was she kidding herself?
She was kidding herself, and she knew it.
She’d also noticed the cross on the dining table. There was another place she’d seen a cross that looked similar. The more she thought about it, it was just as out of place in his apartment as the bracelet.
She had to see clients later, so she dressed in light tan slacks, a white silk blouse under a navy blazer, and low-slung heels. She pulled her brown hair into a short ponytail and headed out. After grabbing a triple shot vanilla latte at a drive-thru, she drove. And drove.
Finding Steven would require that she think like him. Seep into his psyche. His dislike of people stemmed from his inability to detach. He didn’t know how not to care. The guilt over being unable to fix things for them corroded him like acid.
She was a perfect example of that. He was so filled with sympathy and guilt for the plight of her childhood, he obsessed about what she’d gone through. But his sympathy often felt more like pity—something she didn’t want. For the most part, she’d moved past the pain of her childhood. No matter how much counseling she gave Steven, he hadn’t.
