The Prophet (Ryan Archer #2) (4 page)

Jimmy Cloud sighed with relief and followed both men up to the top level of his beachfront home.

“How sure are you?” Jimmy asked.

“Very,” Archer said. “Because I believe someone has taken her, and whoever it was knows you have very deep pockets and is going to force you to decide how much your daughter’s life is worth to you.”

FIVE

Jimmy gave them a quick tour of Tatum’s bedroom. He stood in the doorway with his arms folded over his chest and watched Webb and Archer take a look around. He kept taking deep breaths, then exhaling. Stress relief.

Archer went straight to the window. Webb handed him a pair of Latex gloves. Archer snapped on the gloves and inspected the lever that locked the window.

“Was this window locked or unlocked when she was found missing?” Archer asked.

“Unlocked,” Jimmy answered.

“Was it open?”

“It was standing open.”

Archer turned the lever and lifted the sash. He leaned his head out. Outside beneath the window, a row of bushes ran parallel to the outside wall. He noticed footprints in the dirt. Small footprints. The footprints of a petite teenager, not an adult. He closed the window and locked it, then turned away.

The bedroom was a mess. A huge Apple computer was on a glass desk against one wall. The desk was covered with magazines and scattered papers. The bed was unmade and there were clothes on the floor. Most of the clothes were relax-fit denim jeans and hooded sweatshirts. The bedroom closet was filled with more of the same. Clearly Tatum Cloud wasn’t interested in showing off her developing body. She dressed like a kid trying to fade into the background.

“The police have been through everything and gathered fingerprints and hair fibers, stuff like that,” Jimmy said.

There were framed photos on the desk and dresser of Tatum with her dad and stepmom, and other faces neither Webb nor Archer recognized.

Webb picked up several of the frames and gestured at Jimmy.

“You know these people?”

Jimmy shrugged. “I recognize a few. Those are some of her friends.”

“Names?”

Jimmy shook his head. “Like I’ve said, I’m not father of the year.”

“I’m going to take a few of these to show around,” Webb said. “And I’ll need Tatum’s cell phone records for the past few weeks. Go online and e-mail those to me.”

Archer said, “When she ran away before, what was going on with her?”

Jimmy smiled sheepishly. “Who knows? It’s a weird town. Everyone comes here to become rich and famous, then they have kids, and some of those kids just want to run away from the glitz and glamour. Not everyone is built to handle it. Tatum is an introvert. She hates the spotlight.”

“And you love it,” Archer said.

“Yeah, well, I guess I love everything about it. It’s an addiction, and I’ve worked my ass off for twenty years to keep the dream from slipping through my fingers. I’m smart enough to know that it can’t last forever. It’s taken a lot of therapy to keep my head from exploding. You wouldn’t believe the pressure. I’m a small empire unto myself. Jimmy Cloud Incorporated is a money-making machine, and it takes a force of will to keep it running. Agents, managers, my production company, a staff of hundreds. All employed with the mission of keeping my face and name on the tongues of each new generation of the movie-going public. In this business, if you get lazy or apathetic for half a second, you’ll lose traction and some other pretty face will happily step up to take your place.”

“Is Tatum your only child?” Archer asked.

Jimmy shook his head no. “I have a grown son named Marshall, but haven’t seen him in years. That happened in high school. I banged a cheerleader and slipped one past the goalie. We don’t talk. In fact, I couldn’t even tell you where he lives. I’m only guessing he’s alive, and wouldn’t recognize him if I bumped into him on the street.”

“Has Tatum ever met Marshall?” Webb asked.

“No. At least not that I’m aware of.”

“What about security cameras outside?” Archer asked.

“The cops already looked. I’m sure Tatum is skilled at dodging them.”

“Doesn’t matter. Tatum wasn’t taken from the house,” Archer said.
 

“What happened?”

“She went out on her own. There are enough footprints in the dirt out there to suggest this is a semi-regular occurrence. No one here would approve of her running around on her own, so she escapes out the window to find some space to breathe and claim some teenage independence. Except this time things didn’t go exactly as planned. Is her heliophobia public knowledge?”

“Not really. Tatum is kept out of the public eye. I’ve made sure of that.”

“Is everyone on your payroll aware of it?”

“Some. Not all. We don’t make a big deal of it. Most of the household staff is aware, but outside of that, I can’t imagine who might notice or care. She’s just a kid in a hoodie. She’s a cute kid. Take off that damn hood, flat-iron her hair, and slap on some lip gloss and she’s Miley Cyrus. But as is, she looks more like a street urchin.”

The three of them went outside and stood near the bushes outside Tatum’s bedroom window. Jimmy’s beefy security detail, Griffin and Dax, lingered nearby, gawking at them like two crows perched on a power line along the highway.

“Why did you hire us?” Webb asked.

“Your firm comes highly recommended. I called some friends for advice and every one of them gave your number without hesitation. Spielberg couldn’t say enough good things, and Brad and Angelina are also big fans.”

“Angie is a doll,” Webb said.

“This thing has already become too public for me,” Jimmy said. “My housekeeper freaked out when she found the empty bed and called 911. That was a huge mistake. It’s a nightmare having the LAPD involved because then it only took three seconds for the media to sniff it out and come running. Fortunately, this place is top secret. My own mother doesn’t have the address.”

“I wondered about the lack of paparazzi on the drive in,” Webb noted.

Jimmy nodded. “That’s one of the reasons I’m paying you the big bucks, to keep your mouths shut. Privacy is of utmost importance to me. If the media ever discovered this little oasis, I’d have to move to Cuba.”

“Don’t pack your bags just yet,” Webb said with a crooked smile. “Let us do our job. Give us forty-eight hours and I’ll call with an update.”

SIX

Webb parked the Prius and they took an elevator up to the office. Webb & Associates was on the third floor in suite eleven, next door to a law firm. One of the partners at the law firm, a guy named Broyles, rode up with them. Broyles was tall and thin and always wore an expression like he was passing gas.

“Sue anybody lately?” Webb asked.

“Every day, God willing,” Broyles replied, his beady eyes glued to the buttons on the door panel.

The door opened and the three of them dispersed together, then Broyles peeled away in the opposite direction.

The lobby at Webb & Associates was visible from the outer hallway through a wall of glass. Archer followed Webb inside. Webb had opened the private security firm ten years earlier, and then slowly upgraded his digs as his clientele gradually improved. He’d spent a fortune on renovations at this newest location. The move was so recent the paint was still wet. A very attractive black woman in her late twenties was seated at a desk outside of Webb’s office. Her name was Rosemary. She looked like a model but had a mind like a corporate litigator. She was much too bright for her position, but she liked Webb and he like her, and she was fabulous at her job, so he paid her five times what a personal assistant might typically expect to make.

Rosemary followed them into Webb’s office. The office was big and spacious, designed mostly to impress clients. The window behind his desk offered an amazing view of downtown Los Angeles in the distance. Webb stood at the desk and logged on to his computer as he rifled through a stack of file folders. Archer dropped in an armchair and propped his feet up on the front edge of the desk, crossing his legs at the ankles.
 

Rosemary frowned at them. Her skin was the color of cocoa, and her long dark hair was flat-ironed straight and tucked behind an ear on one side. She was scrolling through texts on her Blackberry.

“Tom, your communication skills suck,” she said, flashing him an expression of irritation.

“You’ve been talking to my wife again.”

“No, I’ve been trying to get updates from you on the Mark Cuban job, and I’ve got a million tax documents for you to look over. But getting you to answer texts is next to impossible.”

“Texts are like Chinese water torture,” Webb said. “I’d rather spend time in a Cambodian bamboo prison cell.”

“I assure you, that can be arranged,” she replied.

Webb ignored her.

She smiled at Archer. “How is Smith?” she asked.

Archer sat with his forearms on the arms of the chair. He was still in jeans and T-shirt, a stark contrast to his friend and employer. “Fit and happy,” he said.

“Is she taking care of you?”
 

“So far, so good.”

Rosemary winked at him and walked out.

“Give her a raise,” Archer said when the door was shut.

“With the perks of this job, she doesn’t need one.”

“Oh? What are the perks?”

“She gets to spend ten hours a day with
me.
”

“Google the word
perk
sometime,” Archer said. “Might be an educational moment.”

Webb grunted something under his breath and pushed the photos taken from Tatum Cloud’s bedroom across to Archer’s side of the desk. Archer studied them one at a time.

“Thoughts?” Webb asked.

Archer’s eyes studied the young faces. “Somebody knows something, or at least saw something. There is no such thing as a complete mystery in this world,” he said. “Do we have names for these friends?”

“Jimmy Cloud texted me a list of friends,” Webb said. “Sounds like she doesn’t have many.”

Archer nodded. “Makes since. The chosen few. A close circle of kids she feels she can trust. But the big surprise in life is you can’t trust anyone. She is likely learning that lesson right now in a hard way.”

“Do you have a take on it yet?”

“No, but I’m doing the math. I need to get on the ground and start asking questions. I’m going to start with the friends and work my way out from there.”

The walls were covered with framed photos of Webb posing with a smattering of the rich and famous. Everyone in that town, it seemed to Archer, was chasing money and fame. He couldn’t relate. It sounded to him like an empty pursuit.

Tatum Cloud didn’t look like a rich kid. Archer stared at her: the hoodies, the sad eyes desperate for hope, the pale face and dyed hair. She looked tiny, like an elf. She was struggling to be normal, but never had a chance. She had the look of every other runaway in the world. She could melt into a crowd and never be noticed. He figured she was probably skilled at doing exactly that. So, had she decided to escape the suffocating glow of her father’s spotlight once and for all? To a girl like her, with a less driven motor inside—a softer core self—the loneliness of the streets might have sounded preferable to the loneliness of her own family.

“I’m taking these,” Archer said.

“Don’t lose them,” Webb said. “Do you think she’s dead?”

“No.”

“Good, I agree.”

“I’m going to find these friends.”

“Don’t scare them.”

“Kids love me.”

“Seriously, don’t scare them.”

Archer whispered something in Rosemary’s ear on his way out. She smiled and winked at him again as he left her desk.

“Tell Smith hi for me,” she said.

Archer found his Land Cruiser parked on the street. There was a ticket pinned under one of the wipers. He clipped the photos of Tatum and her friends to the plastic visor over his head, then peeled away from the curb and drove into the sun.

SEVEN

Tatum Cloud was seated at the table alone, eating her meal in silence. The food was very good and she was hungry. Her clothes had been washed while she slept and they smelled nice and clean. She had taken a hot shower and felt the best she had in quite some time, though she couldn’t understand exactly why.

She was still inside the church. She’d been there several days.

Each day she spent a lot of time with Alexander, talking and laughing, discussing life and the world, and he had made her feel right at home and extremely comfortable. She liked him a lot. Everyone at the church had been very warm and welcoming.

There were lots of trees on the church grounds, and they took long strolls at night when the air was cool, the ocean visible in the distance from the hill where the church stood. Alexander had given her a tour of the church. It was impressive. The rooms and long halls were filled with art that touched her soul. Each day it seemed a small portion of her burden was lifting. The darkness was slowly beginning to fade. She couldn’t explain it.

During their walks, she would ask Alexander many questions. He was always ready with an answer. She asked why suffering existed in the world, and why God would allow so many to starve and die of disease, while others—like her father—were blessed with so much. She questioned him about God and Satan. They pondered the meaning of life and why there is so much pain. Alexander proved to be a patient teacher and a comforting, supportive friend. Tatum already had a crush on him. She couldn’t help herself.

The dining room was long and cavernous, with huge doors at one end and a vaulted ceiling. It made her feel very small. The arched windows overlooked the lawn, and as she ate she watched a groundskeeper tend to the landscaping, moving sprinklers around and trimming the grass along the paved walkways.

She scraped her spoon across the plate, scooping up the last of her potatoes, the final bite of lunch. As if he had been monitoring the entire time and waiting, Alexander came through the doors at the far end of the room and hooked an arm around her. She loved the way he smelled, and her heart raced.

“Does your tummy feel better now?” he asked.

Tatum nodded. “It was delicious.”

His smiled brightened. “I’m happy to hear that.”