Body Double (28 page)

“Yeah,” Adam said. “A little Betadine and gauze wouldn’t be a bad thing. What do you say?”

Andrea looked at Hank. Compared to his wounds, her little scrapes were insignificant.

Adam put a comforting hand on Andrea’s forearm. “We’ll get him there in time. Don’t worry. Meanwhile, let’s get you fixed up.” He ripped open a package of wipes to clean her scrapes, and she nodded, presenting her arms for him to work on.

“Mark’s going to hit the roof when he finds out,” the driver said over his shoulder. “Probably put us both on suspension.”

Andrea felt terrible. “Oh, no. Would it help if I called him? I talked you into it. I begged you to do it. You could tell him I was a bit hysterical too.”

Adam shook his head. He had a gentle touch as he tended her wound, digging small bits of asphalt and pebbles out with tweezers and cleaning and bandaging it. “It’ll be okay. Our boss is a dog lover, and Hank here is a hero. We’ll break it to him that way, once we clean up the truck. The dog hair is probably the biggest concern. And hopefully, Hank doesn’t have fleas.”

“This ride is going to cost about three grand, you know,” the driver said.

She took Hank’s huge paw in her hand. “No problem.” Two weeks ago, she’d have sweated and fretted over that kind of bill, but after spending the last two weeks living as a wealthy heiress and bride, a few thousand dollars seemed insignificant. She would pay the bill out of her six million, or she would ask Blake to loan it to her. Either way, Hank was getting whatever he needed. Paying the medical bills of the hero who’d saved her life was the least she could do.

The emergency vet hospital worked quickly and efficiently to transfer Hank from the ambulance’s gurney to their own and wheeled him through the front double doors, through the lobby, and down a hallway. The receptionist assured Andrea they would do the best they could to help the injured dog.

“He might have one of my attacker’s DNA in his teeth,” she said. “The police are on their way to collect it. Please don’t wash his mouth out until they get the evidence.”

Andrea gave the EMTs her address and telephone number and assured them she would pay for the ambulance and then thanked them both with a brief hug. “If your boss gives you a hard time, please call me. I’ll go and speak to him myself.”

Adam tapped his notepad where he’d written her phone number. “Will do. Hey, would you mind if I called to check on Hank? I’d like to know how he’s doing. And you, of course. You’ve had quite a scare.”

Andrea wasn’t sure he was flirting with her or just being thoughtful. “That’s kind of you. Yes, feel free.” She used her left hand to tuck a lock of hair behind her ear so he could see the wedding ring on her finger. Though it wasn’t hers, she wanted to discourage any male attention.

He glanced at her hand, but his kindly smile didn’t fall. “Take care, Andrea.”

The receptionist asked for information about Andrea and Hank, but since she wasn’t Hank’s owner, she took out her cell to call The Lighthouse. When Tracy answered the phone, she said, “Hi, Tracy, it’s Andrea.”

“Thank goodness. Is everything okay? You’ve been gone a while.”

“Not yet, but it will be.” She told Tracy a condensed version of the events that led up to the current moment, trying to both calm Tracy’s hysterical response and assure her that the veterinarians were working to save Hank. “Right now, though, I need your contact info to give to the hospital.” She put the phone on speaker and let Tracy give the receptionist the necessary information.

“I’m on my way down there,” Tracy said. In the background, Andrea heard the shuffling of papers and drawers opening and shutting.

“All right. Drive carefully. Hank’s going to be fine.”

Andrea gave Sarah’s debit card to the receptionist to cover the payment. When the woman noticed Sarah’s name on the card, Andrea showed her Sarah’s driver’s license and the power of attorney paperwork to ease her mind. When the charge went through, she handed the card back.

“That’s nice of you to pay for someone else’s dog’s surgery.”

Andrea said, “Hank saved my life. It’s the least I can do.”

The receptionist asked her to have a seat and wait while the doctors did their thing. Andrea sat anxiously with her cell phone in hand, dreading the next call she would need to make. She knew Blake well enough to know he was going to flip out.

The next half hour passed in a blur. When Tracy arrived, she barely acknowledged Andrea’s presence in the waiting room, let alone her having survived a terrifying abduction attempt. Instead, she demanded to be taken to where Hank was, just coming out of surgery. Andrea could hardly blame her; Hank was her baby. Andrea was just some new-hire social worker who had a bizarre arrangement with her boss—and the woman responsible for Hank getting shot.

A crime scene technician arrived with a detective who introduced herself as Detective Lowry. While the detective got the details of Andrea’s story, the technician collected DNA from Hank’s mouth.

Lowry wanted her to go down to the police station to look at mug shots in the hopes she could identify the men who attacked her. She agreed to go with the detective, but first she sent a text to Blake:
Are you busy?

Not terribly. What’s up?
came his reply a moment later.

This wasn’t something she wanted to tell him in a text, and so she dialed his number.

“Hi, babe. How’s everyone holding up over there?”

“Blake, something’s happened. I was out walking Tracy’s dog, Hank, when three men in a van tried to kidnap me—”

“What?” he asked, his voice sharp with alarm.

“—thinking I was Sarah. Hank fought them off, and I got away.”

“Oh, baby,” he cried, obviously anguished. “Did they hurt you?”

“No, I’m just a little scraped and bruised is all, but they shot Hank. We’re at the emergency vet now, but I need to go to the police station to look at pictures of bad guys.”

“Which station? I’ll meet you there.”

“There’s nothing you can do, hon. I just wanted you to know so you wouldn’t worry.”

“Not worry? Jesus, Andrea. How can I not worry when there are men out there trying to get you? Which station?”

She asked Lowry which police station she was taking her to and relayed that information to Blake.

“I’m on my way.”

After assuring him again that she wasn’t badly injured, they hung up.

Andrea dug into her purse for a scrap of paper and wrote down her cell number. “Would you call me with updates about Hank?” she asked, sliding the paper across the counter to the receptionist.

The woman gave her a sympathetic smile. “Of course. He’s in great hands. Don’t worry about a thing, Andrea.”

Blake hopped into his Jaguar and punched in the address of the police station in Fremont where Andrea said she was going to look at perp photos. He didn’t want the distraction of having to find it on his own. Dealing with idiots on the road when he was in a hurry was bad enough. He slammed his palms on the wheel when the car in front of him, driving at nearly ten miles under the speed limit, caused him to miss a green light. Come on, damn it. Andrea needed him. She was surely terrified, scraped up, and worried about her safety.

This was all his fault. If he hadn’t gone through with Sarah’s crazy plan, Andrea would’ve been safe in her own apartment right now, not sitting in a damned police station looking at mug shots.

Three men in a van, she’d said. He didn’t know any more than that—not the color, make, or model, not a vague description of the would-be kidnappers. As he drove, he kept his eyes open for vans with three men inside, hoping his instincts would tell him if he spotted them. When he passed a cop, he realized he’d been speeding and backed off on the accelerator. Sure, he could usually talk his way out of a ticket, but being pulled over would delay him getting to Andrea.

He didn’t even know how badly she’d been injured. His stomach was in knots, and his adrenaline fueled his muscles as if preparing him to fight. Bastards. This was his wife they were fucking with, and nobody fucked with his family. Nobody.

The problem was that he didn’t know anyone who would want to. No, that wasn’t true. Harold would. Harold had to have been involved in this somehow, but why? If he thought Sarah was in Colombia, abducting Andrea would prove it. With Andrea in his custody, he could call Sarah and see whether the phone in Andrea’s purse rang, or whether Sarah answered.

Harold was devious enough to pull something like that too.

But would he go through the trouble? Would he risk becoming involved in a kidnapping to prove a point? All he’d have to do was drop by the house, excuse himself to use the restroom, and make his call to Sarah then.

This was the man Blake’s mom was about to go into a business partnership with. Jesus. How had Blake not seen what a twisted ass Harold was? Now he had to figure out a way to get his mom out of it without getting her hurt. If he was willing to commit a federal crime to prove Sarah wasn’t with Blake in Hawaii, what would he do to keep his business deal with Clarity Telecom on track? No, no, no. There had to be a way to keep his mom safe and cancel the deal too.

He got stopped at another damned light and took a deep breath to calm himself. A calm mind was a more powerful weapon than an aggravated one, and in that fresh moment of calmness, it occurred to him that maybe Harold wasn’t behind this at all. What if the attackers were sent by the people Sarah had fingered in Bogotá?

That was a distinct possibility, more likely than a plot orchestrated by Harold. If these men ran a multinational human trafficking ring, they would do whatever it took to protect their criminal enterprise. Either way, Blake would need some wheels greased and strings pulled to ensure the police investigation wasn’t buried under others they considered more pressing. After all, an actual abduction would surely take priority over an attempted abduction.

He opened his phone and called Joe.

“Hey, Blake. Are you back from your honeymoon? How’s my future girlfriend?”

Blake ignored the taunt. “Yeah, we got back last night. Listen, something’s happened. Someone tried to kidnap Andrea today. Three guys in a van.”

“Oh crap. Is she all right?”

“Banged up a bit and probably scared as hell. I’m on my way to the police station to meet her now. I’ll know more when I get there. Is there anyone in particular we should be talking to to get this investigation fast-tracked?”

“Which station?” Joe asked.

Blake relayed the information Andrea had given him. “A detective Lowry is on it.”

“All right. Give me a few minutes. I’ll call you back.”

“Thanks, man. I appreciate it.”

He disconnected, feeling a tad more relieved. It would get handled. They’d find these guys and put them away. Blake was pulling into the station parking lot when his cousin called back.

“Here’s what I found out. Patricia Lowry is the detective, and she’s pretty good but tends to drop the ball if she doesn’t make an arrest the first week, so I’ll check in with my buddy, Doug Cameron, now and then to see how it’s going and to get him to prod her if needed. My dad is friends with their captain, so if we need to get him to light a fire, we have that option.”

“Thanks, Joe. I appreciate it. What if Andrea can’t ID anyone from the photos?”

“Then they’ll get a sketch artist to work something up. They should have someone in-house, or maybe a facial construction program we use to generate a computer image.”

“Yeah, I remember you trying it out on me when you first got it. Didn’t look like me at all.”

Joe snorted. “Oh, yeah. The latest version is a lot better. More lifelike. Anyway, that’s an option. I’ll find out from my dad which prosecutor would be assigned. Maybe you can reach out to him.”

“Joe, be careful what you say to Uncle Roy. Andrea got jumped, not Sarah. He doesn’t know who Andrea is.”

Joe exhaled hard across the phone’s mic, filling Blake’s ear with wind noise. “Right. Damn. That might make things interesting.”

“If you have to, tell him Andrea’s a friend of mine, and let’s hope he doesn’t meet her in the context of the case.”