Agent Bride (13 page)

She expected Cal to stop like before, so that he could get out and she could drive. Instead, he did a U-turn and headed back toward Pietro’s. “We’re going in together?” she said.

“Yeah. I would prefer to leave you alongside the road while I go check but I figured you wouldn’t be too happy about that.”

He had remembered that she’d asked him not to leave her out, to include her in her own defense.

“Thank you,” she said.

“Don’t thank me yet,” he said, his tone disgusted. “This could be the stupidest thing I’ve ever done. We need to be prepared for the possibility that the Mercedes Men found out about your visit and that they are betting that you’ll come back. They may be waiting for us.”

“Then we deal with them,” she said. “We need to stop this before more people get involved.”

He didn’t respond. When he made the turn into Pietro’s driveway, he glanced at her. “Be ready,” he said.

“I am.” She sincerely hoped that they did not find Pietro dead in his house. She wasn’t sure how she felt about a potential confrontation with the Mercedes Men. She’d been truthful when she’d said she wanted this over with. But she certainly didn’t want to put Cal in danger.

“I go first,” he said. “Stay behind me.”

“Okay. What if he’s inside, on the couch, with the flu? What are we going to tell him?”

“We’ll have to think of something.”

Nobody shot at them as they walked from the SUV to the front door. Cal knocked sharply. She listened carefully for any telltale noise from inside and knew Cal was doing the same.

But they heard nothing.

Cal tried the door. It was locked.

He hesitated for just seconds before removing the tool from his pocket and picking the lock. Then he wrapped his hand in his shirttail before turning the knob.

The interior was dark. Quiet. They went into the kitchen, which looked out into the backyard, similar to the Hollister house. But the similarities ended there. While the Hollister appliances were thirty years old, these were brand-new stainless steel. There was a six-burner stove with double ovens. Big pans with copper bottoms hung from hooks in the ceiling.

All of that was interesting but not as interesting as the plate on the counter. It was a sandwich, with four or five bites out of it. There was a half a slice of fresh pineapple.

It appeared that Pietro’s lunch had been interrupted.

“I’m going to look in the bedrooms,” Cal whispered.

She nodded. The kitchen smelled like...cinnamon. Yes, that was it. She opened the oven. Inside was the remains of some kind of crumble. It looked half-baked.

Pietro had had the presence of mind to shut off his oven but he hadn’t wanted to waste any time waiting for the dessert to finish cooking.

Cal came back into the kitchen. “The house is empty. No signs of struggle. I’m going to check the garage.”

His car wasn’t going to be there. She was confident of that. When Cal came back in just a minute, he shook his head. “He’s gone,” he said.

“He was in a hurry.”

“Looks like it,” Cal agreed. “There’s no way of knowing what he took for clothes or where he might be headed. Let’s get out of here.”

“Wait,” she said. She walked over to the desk in the corner of the kitchen. She used a pen to pick through the mail, flipping envelopes over.

“What are you looking for?” he asked.

“Two things. His last name. There’s an electric bill here for Pietro Moroque. And—” she stopped and smiled at him “—this.” She pointed to a bright orange envelope. Like Cal had with the door, she used her shirttail to pull out the card from inside. It was a Halloween card. A child had scribbled his name inside. It was hard to read but she thought it said Jacob. She didn’t care about that. She looked at the envelope. The return address in the corner was a preprinted address sticker.
Tika Moroque. 519 Feather Ave., Kansas City, MO 64110.

“This has got to be his wife and child,” she said. “If he’s running, will he go there first to say goodbye?”

“Or to make sure they’re safe?” Cal said.

With her shirt, she carefully wiped off the pen that she’d touched. She tossed it back onto the desk. “Let’s go.”

Chapter Fifteen

It took a couple hours to reach Kansas City but they had no trouble finding Tika Moroque’s house. Their GPS led them right to it. It was a modest ranch on a quiet street. There was a swing set in the backyard with a big slide.

They made a pass-by in both directions before parking on the street, across from the house. They got out, crossed the street, walked up the short sidewalk and rang the bell.

It was almost noon on a Friday and there was no reason to believe that anyone would be home. Still, they waited. And rang the doorbell a second time.

Just as they were about to return to the car, the front door swung open. A woman, dark short hair, maybe midthirties, wearing a gray business suit, answered the door.

Before Cal or she could speak, the woman held up her index finger and pointed at them. “You need to get the hell away from my house.”

“We just want a minute of your time, ma’am,” Cal said.

“No, you don’t,” she said. “You want to screw up my life. And the life I’ve built for my son. But I’m not going to let you. Get off my porch.” She tried to close the door but Cal was faster.

He stuck his foot in the door and pushed forward. In just seconds, they were inside the small house.

The woman had her back against the wall with her hand up to her mouth. She looked scared to death.

Now it was Cal’s turn to hold up a finger. “We are not going to hurt you. Or your son. Let me be clear about that. But I didn’t want to have this conversation on the street.”

“I have nothing to say to you,” she said.

“Well, we have something to tell you.” Cal motioned to the small living room at his right. “Perhaps we could sit?”

Tika finally nodded. She took small sideways steps, never taking her eyes off them. When they sat on the couch, she lowered herself into the chair opposite of them.

“My name is Cal Hollister. This is Stormy. I call her Stormy because I found her three days ago, injured and alone, in the middle of a snowstorm.”

They had the woman’s attention. Her eyes were big.

“Unfortunately,” Cal continued, “Stormy doesn’t remember her real name or how she ended up in the snowstorm. She had a head injury.”

Tika didn’t say anything but her face looked less frightened.

“We went to see your ex-husband yesterday. We had reason to believe that he might be able to help us. But he wasn’t helpful. And today, when we tried to talk to him again, he’s suddenly gone from his house and missing from work.”

Tika showed no reaction to the news. They weren’t surprising her.

“We need your help. That’s all we want.” Cal sat back on the couch.

She felt like squirming under Tika’s stare. But she sat still, with her hands calmly folded in her lap.

“You really can’t remember who you are?” Tika finally asked.

She shook her head. “I’m hoping you can help me with that.”

“I have no idea,” Tika said.

She tried not to let the disappointment swamp her. She needed to think. “But our visit here didn’t surprise you,” she said.

Tika shook her head. “My ex-husband was waiting for me as I left the day care this morning after dropping off my son. I was on my way to work but after we talked, I decided to come home. I wasn’t up to facing the office. He told me about your visit to his house yesterday.”

“What did he tell you?”

Tika hesitated. Then she shrugged. “He said that he’d catered a wedding reception for an old acquaintance from Moldaire College. That he hadn’t wanted to but he owed the man and this would pay the debt.”

“Owed?” Cal asked.

Tika shook her head. “I don’t know the details. I don’t want to know. There were things about my ex-husband that I discovered after we were married that didn’t make me happy. That’s one of the reasons we’re no longer married.”

“He said the man had showed him a picture of his fiancée and when you came to his door, he knew that you were the same woman. He also knew that something had gone wrong. The man had come with some friends to pick up the food. They made one trip out to their car but there was more stuff. He was waiting for them to come back for the second load. They didn’t. Finally, he went outside to see what was going on. They were very agitated. They didn’t realize that Pietro speaks Russian. They were talking about how the woman had disappeared. About that time a couple cops drove in and the men got the hell out of there, without ever getting the rest of the food.”

“Pietro asked me about the roast pork and rosemary potatoes.”

“Yeah,” Tika said. “That’s what they left behind. When you said it was good, he knew you were lying.”

“Can you tell me the names of the men?” Cal asked.

She shook her head. “I don’t know their names. I don’t want to know their names. He referred to the man who had contacted him as Golya. I don’t know if that’s a first or last name.”

Cal showed no reaction to the name. She understood. There was no reason for Tika to know that it meant something to them. “Did he contact Golya and tell him that we’d been at his house?” she asked.

Tika shook her head. “No. That’s why he decided he needed to disappear for a few days. He said that if Golya found out that the missing woman had been at his house and that he’d simply let her go, he would be very angry. Maybe angry enough to kill him.”

“Why did he let me go?”

“I got the impression that he thinks Golya is crazy. Like really crazy as in mentally ill. He did say the man is a mean son of a bitch and he didn’t want any part of sending you back to him. I really do think my ex is trying to be a better person.”

“How would Golya have found out Stormy was there?” Cal asked.

Tika pointed her finger in their general direction. “Even without his help, Pietro was confident Golya would find her. And then he assumed that she would probably tell Golya about the visit, not realizing the jeopardy it would put Pietro in. Unfortunately, he didn’t think about this until he’d let her drive away.”

“So he was simply going to hide forever?” Cal asked, shaking his head.

“Not forever. He seemed to think that Golya was headed back to Russia very soon, maybe within days.”

“Why did he think that?” she asked.

“Something Golya said about his bride learning to love Russia when it was her new home.”

She looked at Cal. If she hadn’t managed to get away, would they have somehow managed to get her out of the United States and into Russia?

“We really need to know more about Golya,” Cal said. “Surely you can contact your ex-husband. He would have given you some way to do that in the event something happened to your son.”

Tika shook her head. “There was no need. I have sole custody of my son. I am his mother. Pietro is not his father. Another reason why our marriage didn’t work. My son does not understand the particulars yet. He is too small. The truth is known by just a few people. But if something happens to my son, I would call his real father, not Pietro.”

“Given that, it seems odd to me that he came here this morning,” she said. “Why tell you all this?”

Tika shrugged. “I don’t think he has anybody else. And to tell you the truth, I think he just wanted somebody to know in case he did suddenly turn up dead. I wish he wouldn’t have. I’d rather not know.” Tika stood up and looked at her watch. “When I saw the two of you on the porch, I wasn’t going to answer the door. I don’t want any of this ugliness touching me. But then I figured that you’d probably just come back and Jacob might be here then.”

Tika walked over and opened the front door. “I’ve told you everything I know. Now I’m asking you nicely. Please just leave my house and forget that we ever had this conversation because that’s what I’m going to do.”

She stood up. “I know you said that you couldn’t get a message to Pietro. But if you could,” she added, “you can assure him that I won’t say anything about seeing him to the men who hired him to do the catering. It’s not my intent to put anyone else in danger.”

Tika shrugged. “I got the impression from Pietro that these are not nice people. You should probably be worried about yourself.”

* * *

S
HE
AND
C
AL
were back in the car before Cal spoke again. “It’s starting to make some sense,” he said.

“How’s that?” she asked, shaking her head.

“Most of the time, kidnappers never intend to return the victim. They keep the person until they are no longer valuable to them and then dispose of them. For that reason, they rarely care if their victim can describe them. But in your case, it was different. The person who interacted with you, the Ghost, was careful that you couldn’t identify him.”

“He never hurt me. Just kept me drugged up and then got me dressed in that awful wedding dress. I don’t understand why G would think that I would be any happier being his bride in Russia than in the United States.”

“Tika said that Pietro thought he was mentally ill. Maybe he was confident that he could win you over. Maybe he thought you’d fall in love with Russia. Maybe he was going to keep putting pills in your coffee so that you were a little doped up for the next twenty years.”

“But why?”

“That’s easy,” Cal said. “You’re very beautiful. To a man like him, having you as his wife would be a great accomplishment.”

She looked at her still-bruised wrists. “He would have had to tie me to the bed for the next twenty years.”

“There are other forms of coercion that make a person stay in a bad marriage,” he said, his tone gentle.

She didn’t need him to spell it out. What would have happened if she’d gotten pregnant? Even if she despised the father, she would never have left her child behind.

“We need to go to Moldaire. I know it’s dangerous but time is running out.”

“If indeed there is something significant about Saturday,” he countered.

“There is,” she said. “I know it.”

He put the car in gear. “We can be there in forty-five minutes. We may want to make a stop on the way.”

“Where?”

“When G and Bad Knee were at the house, I could smell cigar smoke on them. I asked if they had any matches. They tossed me a half-used book. It was from someplace called Raftors. I did a quick search this morning. It’s a lingerie shop.”

“Lingerie? Is that code for something?”

He shook his head. “Appears legit. At least the front of the house. Not sure what goes on in the back rooms.”

“Why didn’t you say anything before this?” she asked.

“I thought you might get a little freaked out thinking about G buying lingerie.”

“It makes me sick,” she admitted. “Because it was probably going to be presented to me on my wedding night. But it’s a clue. I’m glad you told me.”

“I’m not sure there’s much to be gained by going there.”

“Maybe not, but it’s on our way. We shouldn’t ignore it.”

“Okay,” he said and started driving.

They were fifteen minutes from the college and passing a small private airstrip when a memory so strong, so poignant, had her clenching her stomach.

“What’s wrong?” Cal asked immediately.

“Mia. Mia died in a plane crash.”

“Okay.” His voice was steady, which was good because she felt about ready to spiral right out of her body.

“Tell me about it,” he said. He kept driving but she could tell that he reduced his speed, as if he was getting ready to pull over or stop suddenly if necessary.

“Her best friend’s dad was a pilot. She frequently flew with them. They were going to their cabin at the lake one summer evening when their plane crashed. Mia, her best friend, both the parents. Everyone died upon impact.”

He was silent for a few minutes.

She could feel herself get more in control.

“What was her friend’s name?” he asked.

“Misty. It was always Misty and Mia. M&M, like the candy.”

“What was Misty’s last name?”

“Wagner. Misty Wagner.” She shook her head. “How can I remember her best friend’s name and I can’t remember Mia’s?”

He shrugged. “Easy. You probably heard your parents say a hundred times things like
make sure it’s okay with the Wagners
or
the Wagners will drop Mia off later.
They probably never referred to Mia by her last name.”

It made sense. Suddenly something else was making a lot of sense. “It was a plane crash. Four people died. It had to have made the papers. There has to be some record. If I can find that, I can find Mia’s last name. I can find myself.”

He nodded. “It’s a possibility.”

She hadn’t surprised him and she realized that he’d been going down that path from the minute she’d said that her sister had died in a plane crash.

“Where did the crash occur?” he asked.

She thought. “I don’t know. I’m not sure it’s something that I’ve forgotten. It’s possible that I never knew. At seven, it probably didn’t matter to me. And my parents never talked about it.”

“Where was the lake house?”

She shook her head. “On a lake?” she said, throwing both hands up in the air. It was so frustrating.

He smiled. “We can find it.” He held out his phone.

“I hope so. I know the month and year of the crash and I’m pretty sure that Mr. Wagner was a big shot in business. He ran some company.”

“What was his first name?”

“Steve. I think. Look, I know it’s not much but I think the crash got lots of press. I can remember my mother, years later, talking about what vultures some reporters could be. I guess a few camped out in our front yard, wanting a quote.”

She opened the browser on the phone and searched. Nothing. Damn it. She’d been so sure.

After ten minutes, he said, “If it happened twenty-five years ago, then perhaps the news coverage was never in digital form. We may need to dig deeper, to actually look for a hard copy of an article. We should probably try the library in Kansas City.”

She nodded. “It’s worth a try. But not the public library. Let’s go to the library at Moldaire College. The college is at the center of all of this. I know it. It’s time to figure this out.”

But before they got to the campus, Cal followed the directions on his GPS to Raftors. The lingerie shop was in a strip mall, on the very edge of the Moldaire campus. There were fast-food restaurants on both sides, with a vacuum cleaner repair store at one end and a cash store at the other end of the retail cluster.