Forever Hidden (Forever Bluegrass #2) (6 page)

“Did you try the police again?” Deacon asked.

Ms. Vander nodded. “The police found a note partially hidden on her bed saying she was eighteen and going to pursue a modeling career. She didn’t want me to come after her. She was voluntarily taking her future in her own hands. So the police shrugged and again said there was nothing they could do.”

“That’s a strange way to word it,” Deacon said. “Did she normally talk like that?”

Ms. Vander shook her head. “Never. You didn’t see that man’s face, Mr. McKnight. A mother knows when things aren’t right, and that man was pure evil.”

“Did she leave any of her electronics behind? The computer, phone, anything?” Deacon asked.

“I still have the laptop in my room. I hadn’t given it back to her yet. Will you help me?” Ms. Vander looked like she was putting all her effort into holding herself together.

Sydney looked between Deacon and Ms. Vander and knew in that second if Deacon didn’t, she would personally hire an investigator.

“Of course. I’ll meet you at your house and look over her room. If I have your permission, I will bring the computer back here. Now, it may take time to find her. Are you prepared for that?” Deacon asked seriously.

“Yes, I just need to know someone is looking for my baby. But,” Ms. Vander stopped and bit her trembling lip, “as I said, we don’t have much money.”

“Then it’s a good thing I do,” Deacon said matter-of-factly. Ms. Vander collapsed against Deacon in tears, and even Sydney felt a lone tear trickle down her cheek. And in that one second, the vision of the PI hiding in bushes trying to catch cheaters or bust insurance disability cases disappeared. In its place, Deacon McKnight became a white knight.

CHAPTER SIX

Deacon opened his lower desk drawer and pulled out the box containing the letters from Mrs. Wyatt. He had wanted to spend more time with Sydney, but he needed to meet Ms. Vander at her house to go through her daughter’s room.

He looked up from the antique desk when he heard a soft knock at the door. Sydney smiled sadly at him as she stood in jeans and a tight V-neck sweater. It was white and caused the bright red lipstick to draw all of his attention. Thoughts of smearing her lipstick with heavy kissing kept him from standing to greet her.

“You were great with Ms. Vander,” Sydney said softly as she walked into the room and sat in the whiskey-colored leather chair across from him.

“It’s what I do. I help those who are out of options.”

He watched as Sydney gave a slow nod of her head. She flipped back a long strand of her hair and then raised her eyes to his. “I want to pay you for finding Bailey.”

“What?” Deacon asked, insulted.

“You need to make money. Since Ms. Vander can’t pay you, I will. I want all available resources used to find Bailey. This hits close to home for me, Deacon. I have heard rumors of this happening in the industry. It's common to hear about people preying on young girls and boys who want to become models.”

Deacon understood now. She saw herself as Bailey. And if it hadn’t been for an already famous mother, it could have been her ill-fated introduction to the modeling world.

“Sydney, I understand your motive. However, it’s not needed. I will always take a missing-child case, whether payment can be made or not. I have the money. It’s actually a point of contention with my father. He thinks I should use my money to make more money . . . and I do. I just use some of that money to solve cases for people that can't afford any other option.”

Sydney let out a slow breath. “That’s very kind of you. Are you heading over to see Ms. Vander now? If so, I'd like to come, too.”

“If you want to come, you can. However, I had thought you might want to see these.” Deacon pushed the box across the desk. “They’re all the letters from Mrs. Wyatt. I’m not the only one investigating something, am I?”

Sydney looked torn as she took the box slowly off the table and held it in her lap. She looked down at it, but only a second later looked at him with resolution in her eyes. “Bailey is a more immediate need than some family treasure. It’s been buried for over 150 years. Another couple of days won’t hurt it.”

Deacon’s respect for the woman sitting across from him rose even more. It was easy to forget that someone who was so famous could actually be a good, caring person.

“Then let’s go.” Deacon stood up and walked around the desk. He took the box from Sydney and placed it on the desk before holding out his hand to her. He waited to see if she would take it. When she did, he felt invincible. Deacon helped her from her chair and, with a hand resting gently at the small of her back, guided her to the car.

*     *     *

Sydney looked around the bedroom of the small home. Ms. Vander had done the best she could to make the small row house a warm and inviting place. Pictures of her and Bailey lined the walls. Deacon looked around and studied every inch of the house. It wasn’t as if Sydney knew what she was looking for, but she had a feeling it wouldn’t be in the living room. It would be in Bailey’s room.

They followed Ms. Vander up the narrow staircase to the second floor where the two bedrooms shared a bathroom. The first door was covered with cutouts from magazines and Bailey’s name. Ms. Vander stood back and allowed Deacon and Sydney to go into the small, square room first.

“I’ll go get the computer and meet you downstairs. Call if you need anything,” Ms. Vander said before walking to her room and then disappearing down the stairs.

Sydney didn’t say anything as Deacon walked to the window Bailey must have climbed out. “It’s only an eight-foot drop or so. The plants are smashed down, so the man probably stood there and caught her as she dangled from the window.”

“What am I looking for?” Sydney asked as she took in all the teenage girl things—clothes on the floor, hair bands piled on top of a chest, and way too much makeup.

“A journal, notes from class to her friends, receipts . . . anything to give us a clue who Vic and Tristan are,” Deacon said as he lifted the mattress.

Sydney pulled out her cell phone and Googled Tristan Models. There was a webpage with a model she’d heard of on the front of it. There were also several social media accounts. She copied the links and sent an email to her contacts in the modeling world to see if they had heard of either Tristan Models or a recruiter named Vic. Syd let them know she was in Atlanta at her family’s home for the next day or so and to get back to her as soon as possible. Then she took a slow turn around the room. Where would she hide something?

She searched the drawers but found nothing. When she went to the closet, she immediately went to the darkest, farthermost place she could find. She reached blindly into the back corner and felt something. She pulled it out and looked at the ordinary shoebox. Sitting on the floor, she looked onto Bailey Vander’s keepsake box.

“I found something,” Sydney said excitedly as she stood up and placed the box on the bed.

“Good job,” Deacon called out and came to stand next to her. “Now, let’s see if there’s anything worthwhile in there.”

Sydney let Deacon open the box. Inside was a broken cell phone, an old letter from her father, and a variety of sentimental things.

“This is why they couldn’t ping her location. She smashed the phone and hid it.” Deacon turned the phone over and smiled. “The memory card is still intact. I can get this up and running in no time by putting the card into a new phone.”

“Why would she break her phone?” Sydney asked with confusion.

“Vic probably told her to destroy it. She didn’t know it was only the memory card that needed to be destroyed. By only breaking the screen, you don’t affect the stored data.”

“Will we be able to see the text messages Ms. Vander was telling us about?”

Deacon nodded as he slid the phone into a plastic evidence bag. “I hope so. And also Vic’s number. Let’s go get the computer and see what else we can find.”

Sydney stood back as Deacon explained the significance of finding the cell phone and what he hoped to find on the old, beaten-up laptop Ms. Vander handed over. Deacon promised to keep in touch. Sydney felt her phone vibrate in her pocket, pulled it out, and smiled her goodbye to Ms. Vander. As she walked down the sidewalk toward the car, she read the email from her former agent.

“Deacon!” she gasped as she finished reading the email.

“What?” he asked as he opened the door for her.

She sat in the passenger seat and looked up at him. “I got us a clue!”

Deacon grinned and closed the door. He hurried around to the driver’s side and got in. “Tell me.”

“My former agent says she reps a girl who had been with Tristan. She left them when her roommate disappeared one night. She went to a modeling gig and never came back. When the girl asked about it, she was told her roommate decided to go full-time with one client. It made her nervous, so she left the apartment that housed all of the Tristan models and found my agent the next day. My agent bought out her contract and has made her a very popular model since then.”

Deacon’s hands tightened on the wheel until Sydney saw his knuckles go white. “What else did your agent say?”

“She said they’re a small firm with many contacts abroad, especially in Italy where the owner, Durante Ingemi, is from. They have some popular models out there right now, but rumor has it they’re not completely on the up-and-up. About twenty years ago—that’s before any of these models were even born—the owner of Tristan was investigated for statutory rape of one of his clients when he worked at a different modeling agency as a recruiter.”

“Recruiter?” Deacon asked.

“Yeah, they travel all over the world looking for models to sign with the agency. They bring all these young girls and boys, usually fourteen to eighteen years old, to the agency and get a bonus for each model the agency signs. Since these young kids will do almost anything to become a model . . . well, you get the idea.” Sydney closed her email and watched as they turned down the oak-lined drive.

“And now this former recruiter owns his own modeling agency?” Deacon shook his head. “Unbelievable. I’m going to wait to see what I can get from Bailey’s phone and computer, but I fear we’re dealing with something far worse than a rebellious teen.”

Sydney felt sick to her stomach. She didn’t need Deacon to say it. She knew what was hiding on the underbelly of the fashion world—and it was truly ugly.

*     *     *

Sydney sat with her legs curled under her as she read the first note from her great-grandmother to Deacon. She could hear Ruth speaking as she read the history of the property and what she wished Deacon would do to keep the property up.

Deacon sat on the couch across from her with the laptop on the coffee table. Sydney looked at him over the letter she was reading. His face was knitted with concern as he focused on the computer.

Sydney picked up another letter and fell into the history lesson that was her great-grandmother’s life. She found the portrait her great-grandmother was talking about in this letter and studied it. Her great-great-great-grandfather had painted the skyline of Atlanta.

“I got it!” Deacon shouted in excitement as his fingers flew over the keys.

Sydney leapt up and hurried around the coffee table to sit beside him. “What did you find?”

“The online chat session Ms. Vander was talking about. The men are clearly soliciting her.”

Sydney leaned forward and read some of the chat. “Oh, that’s horrible. They’re manipulating her.”

“Look here, they tell her at eighteen she can leave her mother’s house voluntarily and her mom and the police can’t do anything about it. Then they tell her about being a model and traveling the world. They put it all in her head, and then someone a couple days later just happens to bump into her at the mall. The same mall she tells them she’s going to be at.”

“That’s the same language Bailey used in her note,” Sydney said with wonder.

“What about you, have you found anything?” Deacon asked her. He shifted toward her and suddenly his leg was pressing against hers, and she realized the feel of having him close was addictive. She’d wanted him to touch her again ever since that morning when he helped her from her chair.

“Not really. But I’m only a couple of letters in. I was thinking of going back outside to see if I can find the old well.” Sydney didn’t dare move. She didn’t want him to move his leg from against hers.

“Just don’t fall in,” Deacon smirked, and Sydney involuntarily leaned toward him.

Deacon stood up suddenly and Sydney tumbled forward onto the couch. “Oh, sorry,” Deacon said as he jumped farther back. “I’m going to run to the mall and see if they still have security footage from that day.”

Sydney sat up, feeling foolish and very embarrassed. “Um, I’ll be out back digging up the yard. Let me know what you find.”

And Deacon was out the door faster than two shakes of a lamb’s tail.

Deacon slammed the door to his car and laid his head on the steering wheel. He was such an idiot. Sydney Freaking Davies had her leg against his and was leaning toward him, and what had he done? He’d freaked out. He didn’t want to brag, but he didn’t have problems where women were concerned. Well, until now.

Her breast had brushed against his arm, and he knew if he didn’t put some distance between them he would do something he would regret—like try to have sex with her on the couch right then and there. Well, he wouldn’t necessarily regret that. What he would regret was being like all the other men in her life. He’d seen the tabloids and the way men talked about Sydney. They only cared about her body. The football player had paraded her around like a championship trophy, and the Hollywood actor dumped her when she got more press than he did.

As much as it killed him, he wasn’t going to get physical with her. Deacon had fallen in love with Sydney before he’d even seen this great-granddaughter Mrs. Wyatt had written about. He wanted to take the time to get to know Sydney and date her the way she deserved before they, he hoped, made love. She deserved it, and if they ever did make love, it was going to be for more reasons than just how beautiful she was.