Innocent Prey (A Brown and de Luca Novel) (18 page)

“No, they won’t hurt me. They need me. Half hour.”

“Yeah. Less if I can.”

“Thanks, Detective Brown.”

“See you soon.” Mason disconnected and rolled out of bed, pulling on his jeans and pocketing the phone practically in one motion. He grabbed his shirt as Rachel got out of bed on the other side.

“What’s going on with Rodney?” she asked.

“He thinks he’s being watched. Thinks he knows something about what was going on with the case and wants to talk in person.”

“I
knew
he was a good guy.” She grabbed a pair of jeans from a drawer.

“Rache, what’re you doing?”

“Getting dressed. We have to hur—”

“Not we, babe. Me.”

She blinked, and he thought she was probably wondering if he had really just called her “babe.” It had slid out naturally, and he was a little embarrassed.

“You’ve got to stay here, Rache. There are the kids, and the dog—”

“Hey, the kids are yours,” she said teasingly. He thought. “How about you stay and I’ll go?”

“Because he called
me.
Because I’m the cop and you’re the self-help writer. Because of a thousand other things, Rache, and just because—” He grabbed her and kissed her hard. “Because that. Okay? I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

He turned around and left, grabbing his wallet and keys off the nightstand, buttoning his shirt on the way down the stairs.

* * *

Fuck. Fuck, fuck,
fuck!

I followed him to the front door and stood there watching him go, mad enough to spit. Since when did I take no for an answer that easily? Dammit, what if he needed my help? What if...what if he was the one who was right about Rodney Carr and this was all a setup? He’d been right about Jake, after all. Apparently.

Jeez, what if something happened to him?

The phone rang, the house phone, not my cell. I thought it might have been him, so I raced across the living room to pick it up. “Yeah?”

“It’s Vanessa Cantone,” said my arch-nemesis. Oh, wait, not anymore. Now she was a potential victim in need of protecting in some way that didn’t ensure Mason was going to wind up taking her place in the slo-mo nightmare produced by my brain. “Is Mason there?”

“Why would you think he was here?” I asked.

“Because I tried his place and he didn’t answer, and he’s not picking up his cell.”

“So maybe he doesn’t take 3:00 a.m. phone calls, Vanessa. You ever think of that? It’s a practice I’m striving to emulate.”

“He’s a cop, and he took a 3:00 a.m. phone call a few minutes ago, didn’t he?”

I stood there gaping like an air-starved trout.

“I have his phone tapped. I know where he’s going.”

“Well, that makes one of us.” I frowned hard. “You tapped his phone?” Man, was he going to be
pissed.

“I just need to know how long it’s going to take him to get there,” she went on, never stopping to let my comment get through the gates. “Did he leave from your place or his, Rachel?”

“Mine.”

“Thank you.”

“Vanessa, wait. Don’t hang up.”

She didn’t. She waited two beats, then asked, “What?”

“I—I think you might be in danger.”

She was quiet for a second.

“I saw—”

“No, don’t. Look, thank you, Rachel. Thank you. I just... Don’t tell me, all right? I don’t want to know. I don’t want it changing the way I do my job. Just...just don’t, okay?”

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

“No, I am not fucking kidding you.”

It had never occurred to me that she might not want to know. Jeez, why not make this as difficult as possible, Universe? “Okay.”

“Okay. I gotta go now. Mason might need backup.”

“Okay.” I pulled the phone away from my ear, about to hang up, when I heard, very clearly, a little girl’s voice calling, “Mommy?”

Frowning, I jerked the phone back to my ear and heard Cantone’s voice, sweeter than ever before. “I’m right here, honey.”
Click.

Holy crap, the woman had a child! A little girl. Oh, hell, how was I supposed to hate her
now?

* * *

Mason checked the entire block around Rodney Carr’s apartment but didn’t see anyone lurking, no one watching. The local bars were closed, and the sidewalks empty except for the occasional newspaper skittering in the breeze. He circled twice more just to be sure. The guy was probably just being paranoid. Still, better safe than sorry. He parked a block away and then texted him, rather than risking an overheard call.

I’m here. I don’t see anyone watching.

Ok. Come to the back door, I’ll let u in.

He walked the block back to Rodney’s address, hugging his jacket around him a little more tightly against the chill. It was cool tonight, clear. On the drive over, the stars had been thick and bright overhead, but here, near downtown Binghamton, they were barely visible against the competing lights of the city.

The building was a converted Georgian house that had probably been a landmark once. Now it was four apartments, two on the ground level, two on the second, with a chain-link fence around the small backyard. He went through the gate, around to the back door, and he didn’t have to knock. Rodney Carr was waiting on the other side.

He opened the door, looked warily past Mason, then ushered him inside and closed the door behind him. They were in a small kitchen with the usual accoutrements. A Formica table had a manila envelope on it, and that, Mason suspected, was why he was here.

“Are you sure no one saw you come in?” Rodney asked. He was pouring coffee into two mugs.

“I’m sure.”

“He must think I’d be too scared to talk.” He shook his head slowly, adding cream and sugar to his own cup, then setting both mugs on the table. “Sit down, Detective.” He handed Mason a cup without asking.

Mason sat. He sipped. Then sipped again. It was damn good coffee. The maker, he now noticed, was bright red and expensive-looking. None of the other appliances in the kitchen seemed to be of the same quality, so it was either a gift or Rodney had a passion for coffee.

Rodney sniffed, cleared his throat. “Okay, I guess I just have to say it. Two days ago I woke up naked in a no-tell motel with no idea how I got there,” he said, pushing the envelope to Mason’s side of the table. “This was on the bed with me.”

Mason opened the envelope, slid the photos out. He saw naked limbs, recognized the social worker in one shot, and that was enough. The poor guy was red to his roots. He slid the photos back into the envelope, deciding to take a more thorough look in private.

“What do they want?” he asked, disappointed that Rodney hadn’t called him with something more useful than a personal problem. He’d thought this was about the missing girls. In fact, the guy had led him to believe it was. Was that a ruse just to get some help with an attempted shakedown?

“They want the name and last known address of a girl who has recently aged out of the foster care system and has no known relatives, or at least none who give a damn about her.”

Mason jumped to his feet. “You’re shitting me.”

He nodded at the envelope. “There’s a note.”

Mason took the note out, read it. “‘We know you’re married,’” he said aloud. Then he looked at the guy again. “Married?”

“It’s legal in New York now, you know. What they didn’t realize is that my
wife
is a man and would no more fall for this obvious frame job than I would.”

Mason smiled. “They sure picked the wrong guy.” Then he frowned as more pieces started to snap into place. “Why didn’t you call me sooner?”

“I was waiting to see what they wanted. I know it was stupid, but I thought they might never call, and then I wouldn’t have to deal with all this. But they did. And when they told me what they wanted, I realized they must be responsible for all those missing girls.” He shook his head. “Someone’s been giving them names of girls they can...they can prey on. And for whatever reason, that someone stopped.”

Judge Mattheson, Mason thought. And he’d stopped because he’d stroked out. He’d been about to confess when they killed him. “When do you have to give them the information?”

“Noon tomorrow,” Rodney said. “They said if I told anyone they’d do worse than show those photos.”

Mason said, “They mean it.” Then he looked at the guy. “And yet you called me anyway.”

“Of course I called you anyway. If these people are the reason nine of my girls have gone missing...” He met Mason’s eyes. “It’s worth the risk. I mean there’s only one of me.”

Mason nodded. Rachel had been right about this guy. He’d been dead wrong.

“So...what should I do?”

“Help me take them down. If you’re willing.”

“I am. How?”

“By doing exactly what they asked you to do. Give them the name and last known address of a girl. Only the girl is gonna be an undercover cop, and when they take her, they’re gonna lead us straight to the others.” He shrugged. “I hope.”

* * *

I couldn’t go back to sleep, so I ground up some fresh beans and made coffee. The whole downstairs smelled like heaven as my Bona Vita chugged and steamed. The boys were still sleeping. They’d sleep through a hurricane. Myrtle, on the other hand, had probably heard everything. The phone call, and us getting up and moving around the house. She’d heard Mason leave, and there was no question she could smell the coffee. I didn’t think her other senses were necessarily sharper due to her blindness. I think dogs’ hearing and smell are always supercharged, blind or not. Hell, of the five senses, sight is probably the least important one to a canine.

And when the hell were we going to stop listing our senses as five? Animals clearly had more than that. And so did I.

When I saw headlights in the driveway I smiled, and went to the kitchen to pour two mugs full of the fresh, luscious brew. Mason was a man who appreciated a great cuppa as much as I did, and it wasn’t like a couple of caffeine junkies like us would be kept awake long by a single mug. I was carrying the cups back into the front of the house when I heard the knock on the door. Weird. Mason would’ve just come in. We were way past knocking. On that aspect of our relationship we were in complete agreement. See? It wasn’t
all
confusion and fear of commitment.

I set the mugs down on the coffee table, tugged my very short but very luxurious silk robe a little more snugly around me and wished I had more on underneath it. Then I went to the door and peeked out through the glass panes. Shit. It was Agent McPretty. I opened the door. “Cantone.”

“De Luca.” She came in, then lifted her perfect brows and sniffed. “God, that smells good. Can I have a cup?”

I nodded at the coffee table where two mugs sat steaming and saw her eyes go round as she headed for the sofa. “Damn. You
are
good, aren’t you?”

“I’m a fucking genius.” I took a quick look outside, in case Mason was in sight, but no luck. Then I closed the door but didn’t lock it. “I thought you were going to back Mason up. What are you doing here?”

“I finally got him on the phone. He’d already left and was on his way back. He asked me to meet him here.” She picked up her mug and looked around the living room. “Man, this place is gorgeous. I guess you must do okay.”

“I do all right. Sit down, make yourself at home. Cop conventions in my living room are my favorite. Especially at—” I glanced at the clock “—4:45 a.m. Yeah, it’s the best time.” I headed for the kitchen to pour another mug for Mason.

Instead of sitting, Cantone followed me into the kitchen. “Damn, de Luca, you really know how to live.”

“So I’ve been told.” I grabbed another mug. “So he was on his way back when you talked to him?”

“Yeah.” She spied the sugar and cream I’d left out on the counter and helped herself to a bit more of each.

I filled Mason’s mug and fixed it the way he liked it. “Did he say anything about what happened?”

“No.”

“I guess he’ll tell us when he gets here, then.”

“Guess so.”

It was a little awkward. She knew that I knew something about her. I knew that she wished I didn’t and didn’t want to know herself. The phrase
elephant in the room
was an understatement.

I sighed and carried Mason’s mug back toward the living room, where the slightly rumpled blanket tossed haphazardly over the back of the sofa probably revealed that I’d been sitting there all wrapped up and cozy, awaiting my man in a scene of domestic bliss.

I set his mug down on the coffee table and pulled the blanket around my shoulders. Then I sank onto the cushions of the biggest armchair in the room. That was better. Now I was feeling more like a queen on her throne than a half-dressed, half-asleep, wild-haired writer with her nipples showing through her silk bathrobe.

“So how old is your little girl?” I asked.

Cantone had been perching in the rocker, but now she froze and sloshed coffee all over her hand. “Where the hell did you get that?” Then she frowned. “Did you...?” She pointed at her head and moved her forefinger in a circle.

“Um, no, I heard her voice on the phone. And that’s the gesture for bat-shit crazy, not NFP, by the way.”

“NFP?”

“Not Fucking Psychic.”

She smiled a little. I thought she appreciated my brand of sarcasm. “So, your little girl. She sounded...what, seven?”

She finished sitting down. “Six. Good guess, though.”

“What’s her name?”

“Lilly.”

“And you bring her with you when you’re on cases.”

“No. That was a Skype call in progress.” She sipped her coffee. “She had a nightmare. She often does when I have to leave town on a case.”

And just like that, I got it. “That’s why you’re after the chief’s job.”

“How do you know about that?” She rolled her eyes at her own question. “Why do I keep asking you that. Yes, that’s why I want the chief’s job. I heard through the grapevine he was getting ready to retire and might be scouting potential replacements. That’s why I volunteered to come out here when this case came up.”

I nodded, getting nothing but honesty from her. I didn’t volunteer anything. She didn’t need to know that Mason wanted the job. Okay, that wasn’t accurate. She didn’t need to know that I wanted Mason to want the job.