Kiss Me Awake (25 page)

Auggie hit ‘redial’ on his phone and let it ring. Sweat curled a trail down his spine. He rolled down the car windows and let the hot air hit his face. The air conditioner picked a fine time to quit on him.

He hung up, hit ‘redial’ again, and two rings into the call the ringing stopped. He made a connection.

“Jaida, where the…” He bit back the oath. “Where are you?”

Harsh laughter, and then the phone went dead.

He had her.

                                    *

     
Southbound traffic on the 101 was deadlocked, and Spencer was caught in the middle of it, his vehicle packed in like a sardine.

“Nothing is moving,” he said into the receiver of his cell. If it didn’t break soon, he would abandon the car and walk to the nearest exit.

The news of the vandalized house and Jaida’s disappearance left him shaken. If anything happened to her, he didn’t know what he would do.

Auggie said, “I’m call
ing in some favors on my end. By the time you get here, we should be ready to roll.”

“Tell me why this man would take her?” What did he have to gain? Didn’t the nature of his career demand that, at the very least, he be perceived as upright and law-abiding? Why would he risk that?

“Under my supervision, Jaida has been investigating Gale. It’s her job, and this is one of the hazards,” Auggie said.

“Well, since you explained it that way, I don’t need to worry, do I?” he asked, unleashing the sarcasm. Why was this man so defensive? Was he normally this callous, this uncaring toward his subordinates?

“Look, I’m sorry. I know that sounded bad. I just meant…” He sighed. “I don’t know what I meant. I’m afraid for her.”

“That makes two of us.”

The traffic still wasn’t moving. Spencer pounded the steering wheel with the heel of his hand.
Get out of the way! 

His imagination ran wild, fear for her safety coloring his sanity. He dragged a hand over his eyes.
Lord, keep her safe, and show me where she is.

“I blame myself,” Auggie said. “I should have pulled her off of the case. I almost did, but it wouldn’t have stopped him.”

“You’re sure he’s the one who has her?”

“Probably not Gale himself, but one of his underlings.”

Spencer leaned out the window, craning his neck. It was too early in the day for this kind of gridlock. Why weren’t they moving? As if in answer, red lights flashed in the distance. There was an accident, which meant he could be sitting here for hours. He needed to get off this freeway.

“George Rowan,” Spencer said, more to himself than to Auggie.

“What’s that?”

“I have to make a call.” Spencer hung up. George owned and operated a private helicopter. If George had a clear schedule, he would contract his services to fly him to Fullerton Municipal Airport.

Vehicles closest to the off-ramps were exiting the freeway. The compacted traffic loosened enough for Spencer to edge into the lane to his right. He would be crowded out, or someone would show a little mercy and let him in.

He eased the car all the way into the next lane and took advantage of the narrow opening in the lane to the right of that. He punched the gas and squealed onto the exit.

If he had to drive the rest of the way in this madness, he would need to be strapped into a straightjacket by the time he got there.

L
ance Palermo’s cherry red Mustang was parked in the driveway of his rental, a two-bedroom, brick ranch home on a cul-de-sac. Auggie pulled in behind the car and parked him in.

He got out and looked inside the Mustang’s windows then opened the front door, driver’s side, and searched the interior. The car was empty. Not so much as a soda can or gas receipt. Freshly vacuumed too. Had he cleaned it out for a reason? He popped the trunk. It held a spare and jumper cables.

He closed the trunk then cleared the two concrete steps to the front porch in one leap. The windows were dark, the living room curtains drawn.

He tapped the brass knocker and the door swung open. Lance stood there clutching a briefcase in his left hand.

“Going somewhere?” Auggie asked.

“Very observant.”

“
You meeting up with William Gale?” Auggie flicked the collar of Lance’s olive green shirt, his fingers grazing his chin. Lance jerked back, his mouth a hard line.

“I’m in a hurry,” Lance said.

He moved toward the edge of the porch, and Auggie stepped in front of him. Chin to chin, nose to nose. “Where’s Jaida?”

“What am I, her keeper?” Lance snapped his gum, slipped past Auggie, and descended the steps.

Auggie chased him down and grabbed his shoulder. Lance flung off the restraining arm and spun on him. “Back off.”

“Not until you tell me where she is.” It was déjà vu. Hadn’t he just played this scene out with Carina? But in the reprise the roles were reversed. “Gale will get his money,” Auggie said.

“With this bunch it’s dangerous to make promises you can’t keep. Besides, what’s with all this white knight, hero stuff? She’s a big girl, she can handle whatever she’s in for.”

Auggie’s anger burned. He wanted to grab hold of Lance and give him a preview of what
he
was in for, but the neighbor on the other side of the street was watching their exchange. He couldn’t afford to get hauled in right now.

Lance looked past him to the driveway where he’d parked him in. He smiled. “Nice try, by the way.”

A black four-door sedan rolled up to the curb and Lance quickly climbed in the back. The driver turned his head on a thick neck, his eyes narrowed in silent warning.

Auggie watched him pull away with his key suspect. He would have followed, but Lance would be watching for it. He memorized then texted the plate number to Caleb Daniels. He would put a tail on them. One they wouldn’t recognize.

*

She’d passed out again, or maybe she’d just fallen asleep. Jaida looked up at the ceiling. It sagged in the center, the paint a dull and dirty yellow from where the roof leaked.

“I’ll be back.” His promise rang in her ears. How long had it been since he left? In her current state, could she get herself
out of this house and somewhere safe? Her senses had cleared enough to focus and think rationally, but physically…

Jaida worked her wrists, twisting and pulling against the thick gray tape. It would take something sharp to sever it, and the room she was in had no furnishings, no personal belongings, nothing she could use to free her hands.

She closed her eyes and pictured the layout of the front yard, the frontage along the road, and the house just west of this one. Making it to the road with her feet bound was a long shot, and being out in the open put her at risk if he should return before she hailed a passing car that was willing to stop.

But the neighboring residence might be doable. It was close enough, and once she passed a certain point it was concealed by foliage.

She braced her feet and right elbow on the floor and pushed herself upright. Her head throbbed from the shift in position, her eyes stung with tears, a reaction to the pain. What had he hit her with, a lead pipe?

She sat unmoving, waiting for the nausea to pass, then rolled to her knees and pushed up with her knuckles. She was on her feet. Blackness passed behind her eyes and her body swayed. There was nothing to grab onto to steady herself, but just when she thought she would topple over, the reeling subsided.

Thank You, God.
The words were foreign of late, but strangely enough they came naturally. How long had it been since she’d given thanks for anything, or even recognized the provision, the help?

Blood channeled its way through her limbs, her veins on fire, the circulation reviving the deadened nerve endings. Mustering her strength, she hopped toward the wall, but the
jarring movement set off another bout of pain. She dropped back down to the floor and crawled, inching along like a worm.

She’d made it as far as the hallway then went still.
A car.
She closed her eyes and listened, thanking God again when the rumbling engine faded away.

Jaida crawled to the edge of the kitchen tile, pulled herself up with the doorframe then sagged against it. There had to be a knife, a razorblade, something with a sharp edge that she could use.

She took stock of the galley kitchen. It had painted white cupboards and a pearl gray floor. There was a door on the far wall. It was adjacent to the side yard where a straight, unencumbered path led to the house next door. That would be her way out. Even if she had to crawl.

She hobbled to the gas stove built into the center of the counter. Maybe she could heat the tape, soften it enough to loosen it and pull free. She turned on the front burner. No gas, no flame. The utilities must be shut off.

The surfaces of the counters were bare save for an open ravioli can with the lid pried up. She leaned her elbows on the counter and dragged her body down the row of cabinets and drawers, searching through all of them. She slammed the last one shut. They were empty.

Time was running out. She could feel it. She cast a glance at the front door then looked back at the can. Why not?

Jaida dragged herself back to the front of the kitchen, pinched the steel rim between two fingers and slid down to the floor with it. The circle was jagged and sharp. Hopefully sharp enough to work through the tape.

She pinned the cylinder between her knees so that it wouldn’t shift, centered the tape that met between her wrists over the makeshift blade and worked her hands back and forth.

The fibers thinned, weakening with each stroke until the layers began to snap and pull apart. She was almost through the thickness. Her movements quickened, and she bore down harder on the blade when the lid collapsed inside the can.

“No, no, no!” She tucked her fingernail between the can and the lid and pried it out.

A few more sweeping movements over the mock blade and her hands were free. She tore the tape from her wrists then went to work on her ankles. Startling at the crunch of gravel in the drive, the can lid slipped, slicing across her palm. She bit back a cry as blood ran down her arm.

The engine cut and a car door slammed. Her heart was pounding in her ears.
Focus. Concentrate. Just get the tape off your ankles, Jaida.
She worked frantically until the adhesive band split in two then she ripped the loose ends from her jeans.

God, please get me out of here!

She stood up prepared to flee, pausing at the sudden wave of dizziness. The lock on the front door rattled, and she turned. It was too late.

The chopper that carried Spencer had bypassed the accident and landed safely at Fullerton Airport.

Spencer gripped George’s hand. “I can’t begin to tell you how much I appreciate this”

“Oh, yes you can. I think you did that all the way here.” He paused and the quirk of his lip slid into a serious line. “Spence, just go take care of business.”  

Spencer reached for his bag behind the seat and disembarked. In his mind, he was already sprinting across the blacktop, and his feet soon caught up. With his bag tucked under his arm, he darted toward the building.

He still had questions, a lot of them. And he wanted an answer on how many hours Jaida had been missing. From the particulars Auggie Garcia relayed, the window of time in which she could have been taken spanned from one to twelve hours. That was a broad range.

The more time that elapsed the harder she would be to find. He pushed away the peace God offered and clung to his fear like a drowning man. Where was his faith? His hope?

Spencer stood waiting outside the double glass doors in the no-parking zone. A black Expedition is what he was told to look for. Auggie would be picking him up. Beyond that, he came prepared to follow whatever plan the man had laid out. He hoped it was a good one.

A few minutes later the SUV pulled up beside him. The lock clicked and Spencer got in, dropping the bag at his feet. “Have you heard anything?” he asked then tugged the visor down.

“No, but I do have a lead I want to follow up on.” Auggie circled the parking lot then pulled out onto Commonwealth Avenue.

“What kind of lead?” Spencer asked.

“I have an address. It might not be anything, but we should check it out.” He scratched at his chin where day-old stubble was taking shape into a goatee then flipped on the turn signal. He was turning right.

“Address for what? A business, a house?” The location they were holding Jaida? The thought chilled him. Would they find her? When Spencer looked down at his watch, his hand was shaking.

“A vacant house in Carbon Canyon. I think Jaida may have written the directions down, possibly gone there.”