Double Vision (19 page)

W
hen Rina woke the sun was fully up and it was closer to afternoon than morning. She hadn't fallen asleep until after three. The fact that she had slept at all, let alone slept in, surprised her.

She checked her cell phone, but there were no new messages or missed calls. She hadn't expected to find any. If either of the phones had rung she would have been awake instantly. The lack of contact from Taylor confirmed that something had gone badly wrong.

Feeling physically sick, she picked up her cell phone, sat on the edge of the bed and dialed JT.

He picked up on the second ring.

“I want to help. I could be bait.”

“Marlow won't allow it, and if Bayard tries anything like that he'll lose his job.”

“What about you?”

“Honey, don't push it—”

Her jaw tightened. “That's why you're here, isn't it? To catch Alex.”

A small silence stretched out. “I've got leeway, but I'm not endangering you. And don't forget, Lopez knows I'm working for the government. That's narrowed my options.”

That made sense. He couldn't take part in any of Bayard's operations for that reason, and he'd lost his own line on the cartel. “I'd forgotten Alex knows what you look like.”

“Now you're getting it. If he could put a hole in me, he would.”

“So what now?”

“Just stay quiet and sit tight. I've got a guy in Winton who's looking, and Bayard's a good operator. He doesn't take kindly to losing one of his own. If anyone can get Taylor back, he'll do it.”

Her fingers tightened on the phone. “Will you let me know when something happens?”

“I'll call as soon as I get news.” He paused. “And don't worry about the fact that I'm here. Think of me as a little extra insurance. If Lopez, or any of his people, turn up in Beaumont, you'll be moved out and a look-alike moved in. There's no way you'll be put on the front line.”

 

Rina tried to paint, but from the first stroke she knew she was wasting her time. An hour later, with a throbbing headache and her stomach rumbling because she hadn't eaten or had anything to drink since the previous evening, she cleaned her brush and went to the kitchen to make coffee and breakfast.

She switched on the TV, tuned into the news and paged through yesterday's newspapers, incapable of concentrating on either medium but desperate for distraction.

Putting her mug of coffee down, she turned a page. A blurred photo of a bank robber wielding a gun dominated the page. For long seconds the emotionless way Alex had lifted the gun and trained it on Cesar replayed itself.

Unclenching her teeth, she forced herself to relax, to look at the sunlight beaming across the pine floor, the glimpse of the front yard and the peaked roof of the house directly across the street visible through the sitting room window. Normal everyday sights.

Dwelling on what had happened was a waste of time. Yes, she had been blind in a much worse way than physically. Yes, she had been manipulated and abused, but she had gotten through it. More important, she had gotten away. Now Alex didn't have any power over her unless she chose to hand it to him.

But he had power over Taylor and Baby.

Anger stirred. But there was no outlet for the anger or the powerlessness, and no practical way she could do anything to change the situation. She couldn't even share her outrage and her grief with anyone, because she had no one. They were all gone. Alex had taken them away.

With slow, deliberate movements, she opened the local paper and forced herself to read. A story about the community center's difficulty getting funding to have their roof fixed was barely able to hold her attention, but eventually her pulse rate slowed and her stomach settled. Directly after the sports page she ran into the classifieds. These ones were safe to read, because the photos of Baby were only in the papers that had national distribution. As she skimmed down the page, bypassing the “lost and found pets” section, her gaze caught on an ad in the “employment wanted” column.

Private Investigations.

She went still inside, the grief and fear that had threatened to overwhelm her momentarily suspended. The advertisement stated that inquiries were effective and discreet with a high rate of success, and that contacts could be anonymous.

She studied the phone number, memorizing it. She wasn't allowed to do anything. She was watched and contained, but a private eye was a free agent.

If Bayard's organization was compromised, then the likelihood that they would be able to rescue either Taylor or Baby was remote until they weeded out the mole. Rina had no idea how long that would take, but if the mole had remained undetected for this amount of time, she didn't imagine it would be an overnight job.

Rina continued to study the advertisement. She couldn't go to Winton herself, but a P.I. could.

Walking through to the kitchen, she picked up the phone, the action automatic. She dropped the receiver back in its cradle almost immediately. She couldn't afford to use a landline at any time.

Picking up her cell phone, she dialed the number in the ad.

Harold Sayer, one of the partners of Wendell Sayer Investigations, picked up the call. After running through a checklist of questions, she broached the subject of money.

“I'm going to need some money up front to pay for the travel and accommodation expenses.”

She had already thought about that, but the sum Sayer mentioned was at least double what she had calculated.

“Winton's quite a distance, and sometimes there's a lot more legwork in these investigations than people anticipate. Anything left over gets credited off the final account and, remember, I don't bill you for the travel time, just the standard investigative fee. That's what makes my agency competitive. Most firms charge by the hour, or the day. Plus, I'm free to travel right now, which fits in with the urgency of the case.”

Wary as she was at paying such a large lump sum up front, Sayer's immediate availability was exactly what she needed. “How do I get the money to you?”

Sayer gave her his account number, with instructions to pay the amount in immediately. That way he could get an afternoon flight out and have something to report by midmorning the next day. As she had said, time was of the essence.

 

Twenty-four hours later, Rina stared at the neat exterior of Wendell Sayer Investigations. The door was locked, the office, viewed through a venetian blind, was empty.

It had taken her an hour of ducking through shops and changing her clothes in a public restroom to finally make it to her destination without a tail, only to find that what she had suspected was true. She had been duped.

Harold Sayer hadn't responded to any of her calls, and neither had anyone at Wendell Sayer Investigations. At first she'd been afraid he had fallen into the same trap Taylor had, and that it was possible that Sayer was either in grave danger or dead, until she had begun making inquiries. Sayer hadn't flown to the West Coast. His ticket had been for another destination entirely—Florida. He had taken her money and run.

A small, dapper man halted beside her and stared at the empty office. “I take it Sayer was carrying out an investigation for you.”

“He was supposed to be.” Rina hooked the strap of her bag more firmly over her shoulder. Now that it was established that Sayer really had left town, all she wanted to do was move on. Time was ticking away and she was back to square one. She had to find someone else to do the inquiry.

“Took the money and ran, huh?”

“Something like that.”

“You must be Rina Mathews. I've just been reading through the notes Harold made.” He fitted a key in the lock and pushed the door open. “Let me introduce myself. I'm Robert E. Wendell, the other half of Wendell Sayer Investigations. When Harold left town yesterday, he also emptied the company account. I've just come back from the police station. I've been trying to locate you, but Harold didn't leave a record of either your telephone number or your address.”

“That's because I didn't give him one.”

Wendell's expression was thoughtful. “Then I'm glad I caught you. I have the details of the inquiries you want made and I believe I can help you—at no further cost, of course. You've contracted Wendell Sayer to do the work. Just because Harold's absconded that doesn't mean the job won't get done. Believe it or not, I used to work for Pinkerton. Before that I was a cop.”

Rina stared at Wendell. After being taken for a ride by Sayer, she was, to put it mildly, suspicious, but the lure of the name Pinkerton was both wacky and irresistible. Wendell himself was unimposing, of medium height and build, balding, and sixty if he was a day. If he had been a cop, it had been a long time ago.

“You can check my qualifications if you want. I have them all on file.”

Ten minutes later, a cup of tea steaming gently at her side, Rina finished examining Wendell's impressive credentials. Her only reservation was that Wendell, lean and spry as he looked, was on the wrong side of sixty. “I'm trying to locate a missing pet and a missing person. I have to warn you there is an element of danger connected with the inquiry.”

“It's been some years since I've had occasion to fire a weapon, but you can trust me, Ms. Mathews, I still know how to use a gun.”

A
fter repeating the information she had given Sayer, Rina strolled out of Wendell's office, checked that the street was empty, and walked through the mall until she reached the ladies' room.

Locking herself in a stall, she changed out of the tan pants and dark shirt she'd been wearing and into an uncrushable pink halter dress she'd had folded in her bag. Slipping on a pair of strappy heels that matched the dress, she uncoiled her hair from the tight knot she'd had it in and finger combed it into loose curls. She studied the effect in the mirror, then slipped dark glasses on the bridge of her nose, satisfied that she looked a lot different from the woman who had walked into the restroom.

Folding her clothes neatly and stowing them in her bag, she strolled to the DPS office where she had an appointment to take the written test for her license and, if she passed, do the practical. She had arranged to use one of Denny's cars. After a little judicious horse-trading, Denny had agreed to her offer: once she got her license, that was the last Denny saw of her, and if she didn't pass, she didn't qualify to get her money back. That way his motto stayed intact, his wife was happy with the bank balance, and he got to escape bypass surgery.

Requesting a copy of the learner's manual, she sat down and started to read, letting her gaze flow down the pages, not allowing herself to become attached to any particular piece of information.

Ten minutes later she replaced the manual on the counter. “Thank you.”

The receptionist, an elegant black woman with a name tag that identified her as Denise, looked stunned. “Don't you need it? Your test isn't until three.”

“I've read it.”

Twenty minutes later, she walked back into the testing station, sat down and did the test. When she was finished, she waited in the reception area for the paper to be marked.

A bespectacled man came to the counter with her application and signed it off. “One hundred percent. Not often we get one of those.”

Half an hour later, after hesitating twice at intersections, Rina pulled into a parking space directly outside the testing station.

Officer Doucet studied his clipboard. “It's borderline.”

Rina's stomach sank. Despite the hours she'd spent with Denny, she just hadn't had time to build up confidence or the automatic reflexes that seemed to make driving go smoothly.

A huge SUV cruised through a red light just ahead. A delivery truck braked and the driver leaned on the horn, giving the SUV a one-fingered salute. “I'm better than that.”

He stared at his clipboard and flipped the page. She caught a glimpse of her test paper and the one hundred percent mark. “At least you know the rules. Okay. You're passed, but promise me you'll get some more coaching.” He signed off on the test, detached a sheet and handed it to her, smothering a grin. “Denny, huh? He's a killer.”

In light of Denny's Drive 'Til You Die motto, she wasn't sure that was a compliment.

The tension increased as she waited for Doucet to exit the car, but now that he'd passed her, he didn't seem to be in any hurry. He studied his clipboard some more, and it finally registered that the reason he was still sitting in the car was that he was attracted to her. She had been aware of his interest in the pink dress and more probably the length of leg the dress revealed as she had driven. For a woman who had gone through puberty and adolescence in hospitals and special-needs schools, the concept was life changing.

He turned slightly in his seat. “You're new in town.”

“That's right.” Rina noticed his cheeks were slightly flushed and that his gaze kept settling on her legs. She cast around for something else to say, but small talk had never been her area. Since her new life had officially begun a little over three months ago, her pool of conversational topics had shrunk to close on zero. She couldn't even talk about her struggle to teach herself to read again, or why she was so late getting her driver's license, because that would mean explaining she had been blind for most of her life. Marlow had impressed on her that that was a key piece of information that would stick in people's minds. The last thing she wanted to do was stand out as “different” in the community. She shrugged. “I've been here around three months.”

He slipped his pen onto a little holder attached to his clipboard. “You sound like you're from the northern states. I guess, like a lot of people, you moved down here for the climate. It's certainly hot today.”

And getting hotter. In terms of dipping her toe in the water, sexually, she should be interested in Doucet. He was tall, dark and good-looking in a slightly rough-hewn way, and he was making no bones about the fact that he was interested in her. Unfortunately, as handsome and charming as Doucet was, she didn't want to spend one more second with him than was necessary.

“So, what do you do in your spare time?”

You wouldn't believe me if I told you.
“I'm a little tied up with research at the moment.”

“If you're interested, there's a new movie at the multiplex tomorrow night—”

A black truck pulled into a space just in front of the vehicle. A door slammed. Rina watched as JT strolled toward the car.

Doucet's expression turned rueful. He unlatched his seat belt. “Boyfriend, huh? I should have known.”

Her first thought as she stepped out of the car was that for JT to break cover, he must have news about Taylor, but when he shook his head, her confusion mounted. If this wasn't about Taylor, he shouldn't be here.

JT's gaze fixed on Doucet and the temperature dropped by a few degrees. JT crossed his arms over his chest. The movement stretched the T-shirt he was wearing across his shoulders. She caught a glimpse of a small tattoo, high on one muscled bicep, and something tightened low in her stomach. In the faded T-shirt, the sleeves cut off, he was a lot bigger and more muscular than she'd first thought, and the tattoo added a primitive edge.

Rina collected her handbag, locked the car and took time to thank Doucet. He looked over her head at JT, then disappeared into the testing station. She noted the male body language. Doucet hadn't cringed, but it had been close. Whatever JT was doing, it had been enough to intimidate the cop.

Abruptly, she felt the same awareness of herself as an attractive, available female she had experienced when Doucet had glanced at her legs. Even more ridiculous, she felt like JT was her boyfriend and that she had been caught cheating. “What
are
you doing here?”

His gaze was cool. “I decided to take some time out.”

The fact that he wasn't working on official business threw her even more off balance. “If you'll excuse me, I have to leave the keys at the front desk so Denny can collect his car, and get my license.”

He leaned against the truck. “I'll wait.”

When she strolled out of the testing station, JT was still leaning against the truck.

“If you need a lift home, I can drop you.”

“I'm not going home just yet. I need to buy a car.” Cancel that—she was getting herself a giant SUV or a truck.

“Then get in. I'm helping you.”

She stalled, suddenly wary. She might be slow on the uptake with female things, but she knew that if she got into JT's truck that meant something. “I'm capable of buying my own vehicle.”

His expression was grim. “That outfit might have worked on the cop, but if a car salesman sees you dressed like that, you don't have a chance.” He opened the passenger-side door. “It'll be like taking candy from a baby.”

The invitation wasn't exactly irresistible. She noticed the tattoo again, registering the symbol. Reluctantly, she walked toward his truck. Most of the larger car dealerships were situated in places that weren't easy to reach on foot. It was a fact that she could look around more of them if JT gave her a lift. “If Marlow hears about this, we'll both be fried.”

His hand landed in the small of her back as he helped her climb in. The heat from his palm burned through the fabric of her dress into her skin.

“Today, that's a risk I'm prepared to take.”

His offer to take her around the car yards was practical, but sitting just inches from JT in the confines of his truck cab didn't feel practical. For months she had been “the job” for JT, but suddenly she didn't feel remotely like a key witness for the prosecution or a link to an international crime syndicate.

She studied the laptop set up on a console, and a compact fax mounted where the glove compartment had once been. The dread that Taylor was now enduring the situation she had most feared—being caught in Alex's power—surged back. “What have you heard about Taylor? There has to be something.”

JT signaled and turned into traffic. “Bayard's information is that Taylor went out on a limb, paid a visit to Slater's ex-wife, found Slater and got isolated. The last reported sighting of Taylor was at a bar in Winton. Lopez was seen in Bogotá this morning, which means Slater has her. At a guess, Slater's waiting for Lopez's return before he acts.” JT slid his cell phone out of his jeans pocket and studied the screen. “If anything had happened I would have been informed. Every agency on the West Coast is looking, but so far no news has broken.”

“Thank you.” The fact that Alex wasn't in the equation yet meant there was hope, although the clock was ticking. If he had been seen in Bogotá this morning, he could easily be back in Winton by this evening.

JT stopped at an intersection. While he waited for the lights to turn green, he passed her a bottle of water. She drank, watched as he took a long swallow from his, then looked away, feeling distinctly on edge. In a subtle way, JT was different. It took her a while to figure out what exactly the difference was, but she decided it came down to her awareness of him. Until last night she had seen him only as a controlled, committed agent, but the tattoo underlined everything she didn't know about him. Today was the first time she had seen it, but it had been there all along, distinctly male, faintly subversive. The mark provided her with one of the few solid pieces of information she had about him; that whatever JT was now, he had once been a Navy SEAL.

 

They cruised past several dealerships and finally pulled into a large gaudy entranceway lined with flags.

Rina stared at the glittering sea of vehicles. “Why this one?”

“It's the biggest in town and it's got the most choice.”

“As simple as that?”

“Some things don't need a lot of science.”

JT's tone wasn't lost on her. “I didn't use sex to get my license.” She examined the gaudy office of the dealership as JT pulled into a parking space. “You were tailing me again.”

“For most of the day. You got away from me for about an hour.”

He had obviously seen her go into the mall, but she had managed to elude him when she'd gone to check on Wendall Sayer's office. “I was shopping.”

Hooking the strap of her purse over her shoulder, she reached for the door handle. JT's “Wait there” stopped her.

Her stomach tightened as he walked around the truck, opened the door and helped her down. The touch was brief, the eye contact that went with it even briefer, but the effect of both made her heart pound.

The car salesman, apart from an appreciative but ultimately dismissive glance at her, concentrated solely on JT, despite the fact that she was the buyer. The lesson was salutary. It was clear that some things worked for females, but JT had been right; some situations were definitely male territory.

She interrupted Brad's impressive sales pitch, all aimed at trying to sell her a small Japanese import or maybe a sports car. “I don't want a car. I want a truck.”

Surprise flickered over JT's usually impassive features.

The salesman made the mistake of laughing. “Honey, which color?”

And just like that, they were back in female territory. She smiled sweetly. “It isn't one that you've got.”

JT put a hand to his mouth. It took her a few seconds to realize he was laughing.

He coughed. “Uh, I think we'd like to look around for ourselves for a few minutes.”

When the salesman backed off, JT lowered his hand. “What kind of truck?”

“Don't dare laugh, but I like yours.”

“I use mine for rough country and carrying equipment. That's the only reason I have it. Otherwise I'd probably get something more comfortable, like an SUV.”

“I'd still like a truck.” She cast her gaze over the ranks of cars. “And, actually, color
is
important. I don't want a red one. People who drive red trucks have psychological problems.”

His hand moved over his mouth again. She deduced that he had seen the red truck that had almost rear-ended her the previous day.

“For driving around town, a car makes sense. It's easier to handle, plus you'd have a secure trunk.”

She had a brief flash of tumbling in a car. Her fingers tightened on the strap of her handbag. “I don't want a car.”