Controlling Interest (16 page)

Natalie followed Alison into a room that connected to the dining room. The spacious dormitory had a clean-swept tile floor and ceiling fans whirring overhead. There was a bathroom visible through another open door, live with the sound of running water and the laughter of children. “This is nice,” she said, taking note of six or eight stacked bunk beds lining the walls. Each bed was made with plain white sheets, a pillow, and a beige blanket folded at the foot.

“We're proud of what the Lord is doing here.” Alison walked toward a top bunk under a window whose mini blinds were pulled against the approaching darkness. “This is where Yasmine slept. I've already replaced the sheets, but you're welcome to look around if you want.”

Natalie stared at the taut white covers on the bunk. What would Matt do if he were here? She wasn't sure of the rules for finding people who didn't want to be found, especially a woman with very little money in a foreign country.

She turned as a woman's smoky voice, husky from years of cigarette consumption, interrupted her thoughts.

“What you lookin' for, Miz Alison? Did the baby lose one of his toys?” A small, stooped woman wearing a pink warm-up suit stood in the doorway of the dorm room. Her hair was pulled back in an ash-gray ponytail tied with a pink ribbon. The faded smile was gentle.

“No. Keturah, this is Natalie, um . . . Tubberville, right?” Alison glanced at Natalie for confirmation. “Anyway, she's looking for the young Pakistani woman who stayed in the bunk above you last night. I don't suppose she talked to you, did she?”

Keturah's eyes, full of a lifetime's hard experience, took on a guarded expression. “She didn't say hardly nothing. Why?”

Natalie went into her spiel about Yasmine's forthcoming marriage. “Her family's so worried about her that they're offering a reward,” she finished. That wasn't strictly true, but Natalie figured even if the Patels didn't come through with individual rewards for people who had helped find Yasmine, she herself would foot the bill. With a fifty-thousand-dollar finder's fee to play with, she could afford it.

“I already got my reward.” Keturah folded her arms. “The Lord Jesus done set me free. But if that little girl's in trouble, I don't mind helping. I heard her sniffling, late last night while I was trying to go to sleep. So this morning over breakfast I asked her what was the matter.” She shrugged. “Wouldn't say, but she did ask me if I had ever been to the Psychological Testing Center.”

Natalie clasped her hands together. “Her friend Rafiqah is a psychology intern of some sort. I bet Yasmine knew she was there.” She ran to give Keturah an impulsive hug. “Thank you, thank you!”

Keturah patted her on the arm. “You're welcome. Tell Dr. McWain I'll be by on Thursday for my appointment.”

Yasmine cowered behind a lamp post at the corner of Jackson and Beale, watching as the blonde woman who worked for her father and the Kumars left the shelter. She had a happy, confident sort of walk, like most Americans, as she turned in the direction of the coffee shop Yasmine had passed earlier in the day. Natalie Tubberville had a reason to be happy and confident. She was going to make a lot of money when Yasmine gave herself up and went back to her family.

Which now seemed inevitable. Yasmine pressed the back of her hand against her mouth to stifle a sob. Tears flooded her eyes, blinding her to the lengthening evening shadows. Rafiqah had finished her studies and moved, leaving no forwarding address. Yasmine had only herself to blame. With no idea how to tell her friend that she was now a Christian — as far as her family was concerned, an infidel, unfit to bear the name Patel — she had not answered Rafiqah's last letter. Written on letterhead from the testing center, it had begged Yasmine to stay in touch. Rafiqah was lonely in America, desperately missed her culture. But Yasmine could not answer. She was a coward.

And now, because of Natalie Tubberville, she could not even spend another night in the shelter. What was she going to do? Completely on her own in this enormous foreign country.

She grasped the silver ring resting against her bosom. It grew warm in her hand, comforting her. Maybe Zach didn't really love her. Maybe he'd only been using her to get to Jarrar, and possibly that was the only reason he'd written that letter. But at least he was a Christian. If she went to him he would help her. The ring told her so.

Leaning back against the lamp post, knees weak, she held it out, palm flat. The little fish cut into the metal winked at her in the dying sunlight. Ah, symbol of her Lord and Savior. The one who watched over her and supplied courage when she most needed it.

Help me, Father. Show me where to go now.

B. B. King's on Saturday night was hopping with music, food, and conversation. At first Matt found himself sliding neatly back into a comfortable social round. It turned out Heather was a graduate student in British literature at Christian Brothers, possessed of a fine mind as well as a fine body. The only problem was, she kept returning to a one-sided debate over whether or not William Shakespeare actually wrote all those mind-numbing plays he'd read in high school. Well, technically that Cliff guy — whoever he was — had helped Matt out a lot. In any case, he couldn't have cared less about sixteenth-century ghostwriting.

By seven o'clock he was regretting his decision to abandon his date with Google and patter down the primrose path.

“I kept hoping you'd come back to the café and ask me out.” Heather leaned against his shoulder, sipping at a straw stuck in a frozen drink. Its fruity smell barely penetrated the fumes of “Paris Hilton” wafting from her neck. “So when you didn't, I decided to take things into my own hands.” She hooked an arm through his and gazed soulfully up at him.

He blinked down at her, trying to breathe.

Hogan, what in the name of Elvis do you think you're doing?

Think? There's no thinking going on here.

Bingo. Business as usual. Is this what you want?

I've been really good since I turned my life over to God. He said it's not good for a man to be alone. What I want is to not be lonely.

In a sudden moment of clarity, Matt's brain took an elevator — along with his conscience — to the ceiling, where he looked down at the moron letting himself be hit on by a girl with whom he'd had maybe one and a half conversations and who was practically sitting in his lap. Was she really going to make him less lonely?

When his cell phone vibrated against his hip, he snatched it off its clip and flipped it open. “Trouble — um, Natalie — Where are you?”

“Stop calling me ‘Trouble,' ” she retorted. “Where are
you
? I've been trying to call you for nearly an hour.”

“Alright, alright. What's going on?” He glanced at Heather, who moved a hair's breadth away from him. A tiny frown marred the smooth freckled forehead.

“I've got a lead on Yasmine. I went to this homeless shelter where she spent the night, and there was a lady there who said she asked about the Psychological Testing Center, so I went there, but of course it's closed tonight, so I'm thinking we ought to make some phone calls and see if we can — ”

“Take a breath, okay?” Matt assessed Heather's expression, which had gone from slightly cloudy to chance of rain. “I'm at B. B. King's, but I was just about to leave. You want to meet me back at the office?”

“That's where I am. Well, I'm in Tootie's living room. She said it would be more comfortable than waiting by myself in your office, especially since there was no telling when you'd get back, since you went out with that — ”

“Okay, okay, chill. I'll be right there.” He closed the phone.

“Who was that?” Heather drew back, dark red eyebrows scrunched. Her nails dug into his arm.

Matt didn't really care. He had been rescued, and he knew it. “That was my partner. I have to meet her to discuss this case we're working on.” He shrugged. “I'm really sorry.”

“I bet you are.” She sucked down the rest of her drink, then clunked the empty glass onto the table. “Where's my purse?”

“Here it is. I can walk you home.”

“No, thanks. I see a friend of mine over at the bar.” She looked up at him and sighed. “You're really cute, Matt, but I know when a guy's not interested. And I'm not into self-flagellation.”

“Self what?”

“Never mind. ‘Sigh no more, ladies, sigh no more, men were deceivers ever. One foot in sea and one on shore, to one thing constant never.' ” She tucked her purse under her arm and headed for the bar.

Matt watched her go with more relief than regret. If men were deceivers, women were just plain weird.

Natalie jerked open the apartment door to find Matt standing there with his hands in his pockets, trying to look nonchalant. “What's the matter with you? I'm out on the street working my socks off while you're in a blues club, wining and dining some bimbo.”

“I'll have you know, I've been listening to Shakespeare quotations for the last hour and a half. I need an Advil.” Matt flung himself onto Tootie's green plastic-slip-covered sofa. He eyed the two-by-four-inch piece of knitting in Tootie's hands. “What the heck is that?”

Tootie, wobbling in her rocker with her fat little Boston terrier Ringo snoring in her lap, peered over her glasses. “It's a blanket for the homeless. Natalie told me about the women's shelter she went to this afternoon.”

Matt snorted. “Might keep somebody's left toe warm.”

“Never mind that.” Natalie propped her hands on her hips. “What are we going to do about Yasmine?”

He sat back, one ankle crossed over the other knee, fingers linked across his stomach. In jeans and a plain blue shirt, with a loosely knotted pink-and-red patterned tie, he looked relaxed and ridiculously attractive. “Too late to do anything now. Monday morning we go to the Testing Center.”

“Yeah, but that's a long time from now. It's going to be dark soon. She'll have to have a place to stay. Won't she go back to a place she's familiar with, like that shelter?”

“Probably.” Matt pinched the bridge of his nose. “But would she stay there once she finds out you were looking for her?”

“Good point.” Natalie dropped down beside him and put her head in her hands. “The problem is, we still don't know enough about her. Is she running
away
from something, or
to
something?”

“Hey.” Matt laid a hand on top of her head, his touch teasing but somehow comforting. “Don't stress so much. Your brain'll explode.”

She caught a curious glance from Tootie and hurriedly sat up.
Thou art not a bimbo
, she told herself.

“Sounds to me like you both need a good night's sleep.” Too-tie dropped one needle to unsnarl her yarn. “Go to church in the morning and have a day off.”

Matt and Natalie looked at each other. “Church,” said Natalie.

Tootie held her needles in the shape of a cross. “The place you go once a week to sing hymns and listen to a sermon.”