Exposed (17 page)

God, she was sorry. She wanted to take it all back, starting with the very first lie.

Jolene’s teeth chattered. She pictured her mom and could practically hear her yelling across the soccer field.
Fight for it, Jolene! You go, girl! Show ’em what you got!
The words were comforting in some absurd way, and she managed to force back the tears. She took a deep breath and rubbed the snot from her nose with her good hand.

A phone.

She needed a phone.

She had to get a message out, or they were going to kill her here in this freezing, isolated place.

How did she know that?

She sat up and leaned against the hard metal wall. She’d woken up here groggy and confused, with no memory whatsoever of the trip. They’d drugged her. So how did she know this place where they’d brought her was isolated?

The birds.

They were ones like she remembered from summer camp. She used to lie in her bunk in the mornings, listening to their calls, and so somehow she knew she was out in the country. The stinky apartment was a world away, and this building or warehouse or whatever it was was in the boondocks.

There, she’d figured something out. She leaned her head back against the wall, faintly encouraged by the fact that her mind could function after everything that had happened.

She needed to escape. Or get her hands on a phone. They’d probably kill her if she tried to do either.

But they were going to kill her anyway. She knew it deep down in her bones. They would rape her and torture her and question her some more, and then they’d kill her—just like they had killed Heidi.

She felt a wave of nausea and tucked her head between her knees.
Please, no more questions
. She didn’t want to talk about her friends or where they lived or how to get in touch with them. She’d managed to make stuff up, but sooner or later, they’d find out she was
lying, and they’d be back for the truth, even though she didn’t know it. They were desperate. Had to be. Why else would they keep asking the same questions, over and over?

She bit her lip. It felt dry and cracked. Never in her life had she been so thirsty.

Think
.

The bald one—Anatoli—had her phone. He’d taken it from her purse after they’d stuffed her into the SUV. She’d been too shocked even to grasp what was happening.

He’d removed the battery and put it in his pocket.

Was it still there?

And what about
his
phone? He kept it on him—he had to. He was on it all the time, talking to people in that fast, guttural language she didn’t understand.

Noise outside the door. Jolene’s head jerked up. She stared at the band of light and held her breath.

In the distance, the sound of an engine. Moment by moment, the noise grew louder. She squeezed her eyes shut. Her heart started to race. She hugged her knees to her chest and prayed.

The sound of Maddie’s heels echoed down the underground corridor as she walked to the ballistics lab. She waved at Scott through the glass, and he stepped over to open the door.

“Sorry I’m late.”

“We got started without you.” He looked her up and down as she tossed her coat onto a chair. “Where you been?”

“Court,” she said, explaining the fitted gray skirt and high heels—not her usual work attire. She spotted Brian on the other side of the room, standing at a counter and peering into a microscope. She looked at Scott. “So you got something?”

“Go see for yourself.”

Brian’s gaze met hers as she crossed the laboratory, and she gave him a brief nod before stepping up to the microscope and looking through the lens. On the stage was a spent shell casing.

“This is the one I gave you?” she asked.

“Yep.”

Then she looked at his nearby computer monitor,
which displayed an image of a shell with identical markings. According to the notation, the photo showed the shell magnified to ten times its actual size. She studied the image. Whoever had taken the picture knew what he was doing and had used axial lighting to illuminate the casing’s details adequately. Maddie wasn’t a ballistics expert, but she’d done enough macrophotography of shell casings to know they had a match.

“Where’d this come from?” she asked Scott.

“Los Angeles. It was recovered from the scene of a nightclub shooting.”

“When?”

“May eighth of last year,” Brian put in.

Her eyes widened. “The weekend Gillian Dawson was killed.”

“Who’s Gillian Dawson?” Scott wanted to know.

“A college student at USC who was murdered last spring.” Maddie looked at Brian. “This shooting, do you know if it was a homicide or—”

“No fatalities,” Scott said. “I already talked to the lead investigator. Sounds like a dispute over a stripper who was getting off work. Couple of shots exchanged in the parking lot. Both parties took off.”

“I’m going to need that detective’s contact info,” Brian told him.

“I’ve got some questions first.” Scott looked at Maddie, clearly not happy to be taking orders from a fed. “Where’d you get this brass you brought me?”

She leaned back against the counter. “You hear about the shooting Thursday night over at the movie theater?”

“Some cop dodged a bullet.” He looked at Brian.
“
You’re
the cop? I didn’t hear the FBI was involved.”

“We’re trying to keep a low profile. It’s a sensitive investigation.” Brian looked at Maddie. “This adds another link between Gillian’s murder and Volansky, but it’s still circumstantial. We don’t have proof he’s the one who fired the gun.”

“You need a weapon to match it to,” Scott said. “Can you guys get a search warrant?”

“Even if they could, no one knows where he is.” Maddie’s phone chimed from her coat pocket across the room. She walked over to check it and recognized the number of a prosecutor who’d been hounding her all day for a batch of crime-scene pictures.

“I’ve got to run upstairs to see about something.” She looked at Brian. “You okay to see yourself out? I’ll call you later to talk about the case.”

He gave her a nod, and Maddie hurried up to her office. She sent out the file and then answered a few of the e-mails that had piled up while she’d been in court all afternoon. Then she loaded her computer bag and headed down to the parking lot, where she spotted Brian waiting for her. Butterflies flitted to life in her stomach, even though she’d half expected him.

He was leaning against her car and talking on his phone, and he didn’t take his eyes off her as she crossed the asphalt at a brisk clip. When she stopped in front of him, he ended the call.

“What are you doing now?” he asked.

A cold gust whipped against her legs, and she hugged her coat around her. “Going home.”

“How ’bout dinner?”

“I’ve got work tonight.”

“So do I.”

She gazed up at him, wondering how he could look so totally relaxed while getting the brush-off. Again.

She suspected it had to do with his underlying certainty that sooner or later, she’d give in—that whole confidence thing again.

“I’m behind on paperwork,” she said.

“Girl’s gotta eat.”

He stepped closer and picked up the end of her scarf. He stroked the wool between his thumb and forefinger. A little jolt of heat zinged through her.

His gaze met hers. “Just dinner.” His voice was low and warm, and she didn’t believe for a minute that all he wanted was dinner. He eased closer. “I promise not to do anything you don’t like.”

Maddie gazed up at him and resisted the urge to fall into all that solid warmth that was only inches away. She wanted to. Maybe she should let herself. Maybe for once, she should stop worrying about the consequences and simply enjoy something. A fling. Was serious Madeline Callahan even capable of a fling anymore? She honestly didn’t know.

He tugged the scarf, and she leaned closer, tipping her head back to look at him. Those hazel eyes were dark now, almost black. She could read the look on his face, and it made her pulse pound.

A phone buzzed, and she jumped back.

He pulled it from his pocket. “Beckman.” Pause. “I’m at the Delphi Center. Why?” His annoyed expression morphed into alarm. “
Jolene’s
phone—you’re sure?”

Maddie tensed. God, they’d found her. She was in a ditch somewhere—

“Highway 84. Where is it?”

It took her a moment to realize the urgent words were directed at her.

“It’s—” Her mind whirled. “It’s north of here. Why?”

“I’m on my way,” he said into the phone. “Text me the coordinates.” He clicked off and jerked some keys from his pocket. “That was Sam. Nine-one-one just got a call from Jolene’s cell phone.”

She stood perfectly still as the words sank in.

“Come on.” He moved toward his car. “Get me to this highway.”

“Slow down. We’re almost there.” Maddie gripped the door handle as he took a curve.

“How far?”

She consulted the screen on his phone. Sam had texted some GPS coordinates, and instead of trying to figure out the car’s navigation system, she’d simply clicked open a map on his cell phone.

“Looks like about three miles? Maybe four.” She glanced around, searching for familiar landmarks. There weren’t many around. It was mostly arid ranchland dotted with scrub brush. She recalled an intersection up ahead where she’d once worked a traffic fatality. She remembered a quarry, too, but that had to be at least ten miles west.

“This is an estimate,” Brian reminded her. “It doesn’t tell us the exact location, just the cell tower.”

“Can’t they triangulate it or something?”

“The phone went dead. Or someone killed it. Dispatch said they heard ‘labored breathing’ and then nothing.”

Maddie gripped the door handle. Jolene was alive.
Was
alive. But what if someone had caught her calling for help?

Or maybe it hadn’t been her at all but someone using her phone.

Maddie’s heart raced. Her stomach churned. It made her sick to think that Jolene might have survived all this time and they might still be too late.

“ ‘Labored breathing’ doesn’t sound good,” she said tightly.

His gaze remained intent on the narrow highway, where yellow stripes stretched endlessly in front of them. Maddie glanced at the phone in her hand. Sam was on his way, and so was a local sheriff’s unit. The FBI was bringing a canine team to help with the search, but in the meantime, it was just her and Brian speeding down a lonely stretch of highway.

“Look around,” he ordered. “Tell me if you see anything. Farmhouses, outhouses, deer blinds, anything.”

She searched the roadside, but all she saw was a rugged landscape, dimly lit by the crescent moon overhead.

“Mailbox,” she said.

He slowed abruptly, and she pointed to a tin mailbox attached to a wooden post. They passed a dirt road that wasn’t labeled—probably a private drive—and Maddie craned her neck, looking for any sign of light beyond the trees. Nothing but blackness.

“Think we should go back?” She looked at him.

“How much farther?”

She glanced at the phone. “Maybe a mile? But you said it’s an estimate, so—”

“Sign.” He jabbed the brakes, and they skidded to a halt. She spotted the weathered wooden sign on her side
of the road, but it was too dark to read. Brian threw the car into reverse and backed up so the headlights would illuminate the faded lettering.

“Eversole Tanning and Taxidermy,” she recited. From the sign’s condition, she guessed the business was long since dead. “There’s probably still a building there, at least.”

Brian looked around.

“An abandoned business wouldn’t be a bad place to hide someone.” She glanced at the sign again and the word
taxidermy
gave her a chill.

“Gate’s open,” he said.

Maddie looked. A rusted metal gate spanning the dirt road was ajar. A chain and padlock dangled from the metal fencepost.

Without a word, he pulled off the road and slid the car between some cedar trees.