Last Call - A Thriller (Jacqueline "Jack" Daniels Mysteries Book 10) (5 page)

“Deal.”

She listened as footsteps trailed off down the hall, then went to the window. Outside, a curtain of snow descended on the city in a perpetual loop. The cars below were all frosted now, and the first snowplows had begun to make their rounds.

She was still clutching her belly.

A life was growing inside of her.

A
life
was growing inside of her.

It didn’t matter that half the DNA belonged to a monster.

Half the DNA was hers.

She was a mother. The tiny being growing inside her was her child.

Her
family.

Suddenly, she couldn’t see the snow anymore.

The world was a blur through her tears.

T
he earliest flight to Chicago I could get was a red-eye leaving at 10:15
P.M.
, and it cost five times as much as I’d paid to come to Florida. The ridiculous amount I spent didn’t stop the plane from being delayed.

I called my house for the eighth time that day. No answer. Called Phin. No answer. Called my house. No answer. Called Phin. No answer. Called my partner, Harry McGlade, to see if he knew anything and got his voicemail greeting.

“This is Harry McGlade. I’m not picking up the phone because: A – I’m screening my calls and don’t want to talk to you, B – I’m engaged in a business transaction involving the exchange of sexual favors for money, or C – It’s after midnight and I chased a sleeping pill with four beers.”

I left a message for him to call me. Then I tried Phin again.

No answer.

I got to O’Hare at a little after five in the morning, exhausted because I have a hard time sleeping in a bed let alone in the cattle call the airlines dub
coach
, then cabbed it to my house in Bensenville. My husband, and my dog, were gone.

My cat was there, but didn’t seem happy to see me. I kept my distance.

I immediately located the whereabouts of my dog, as Phin had left a note next to the phone with the number for the kennel he dropped him off at. But there was no evidence that pointed to where my husband had gone. He’d cleared his computer history. He’d erased the house security footage. I checked call logs to both his cell number, and the house, and the only numbers that came up were mine, and McGlade’s.

We only had one car, which Phin had left for me (probably because there was an anti-theft tracker in it and he didn’t want me to locate him), so I braved rush hour traffic and got into Chicago a little after nine. Since McGlade never got to the office before noon, I went to his home.

Harry’s current place of residence was a condo in Streeterville overlooking the lake. I parked in front, and walked up to the doorman.

“Is jackass here?” I asked.

“Hello, Miss Daniels. I haven’t seen Mr. McGlade this morning. Would you like me to ring him?”

“I’ll go up,” I said. “Can you please watch my car?”

“Of course.”

I handed him the keys in case he needed to move it, and then took the elevator to McGlade’s penthouse. I let myself in without bothering to knock.

Harry’s home was furnished in 1990’s rich douchebag; leather sofas, nude Nagel prints on the walls, a Japanese shoji screen, hunter green everywhere. I heard sounds coming from the hallway, and found Harry in his round, king-size bed, watching something on his tablet.

“Hiya, Jackie. I’m watching Waveya.”

He turned the screen my way and I saw five cute Korean girls in tiny outfits doing a sexy synchronized dance to the music.

“I’ve watched this eighteen times,” he said, evidently unfazed that I was in his home. “I think I’m in love. Which of the five do you think is cutest? I’m leaning toward Ari. But MiU has that redhead thing going on.”

“Don’t you ever pick up your damn phone?”

“Nope.”

“What if it’s an emergency?”

He smiled big and shot me with his index finger and thumb. “That’s why I gave you an emergency key.”

“And what if I’m having the emergency?”

Harry shrugged. “You refused to give me a key. You were worried I’d show up in your house unannounced, like you’re doing right now.

This wasn’t getting anywhere. “Where’s Phin?”

“Phin told me not to tell you or he’d beat me up.”

“And if you don’t tell me, I’ll beat you up.”

McGlade tapped his chin. “Decisions, decisions.”

“This isn’t a joke, Harry. If you know where Phin is, spill it.”

“It’s a long storypants.”

“Storypants?”

“I’m doing a blog, so now I add the words
pants
to—”

“I don’t care,” I said, cutting him off. “Where is my husband?”

“You mean physically? Or emotionally? Because, I gotta be honest, sometimes Phin acts pretty darn juvenile.”

I murdered him with my eyes. “Where is he, Harry?”

“It’s sort of a long story. Where should I start?”

“The beginning.”

“Okay. A long time ago, my parents had unprotected sex, and nine months later I was born. I was given up for adoption, probably because they couldn’t accept a child with such a freakishly large penis. Want to see baby pictures? You’d be like,
whoa, does that baby have three legs
?”

“Fast forward.”

“Okay. Two weeks ago I was in a Cracker Barrel with an escort named Sinnamon. She ordered a chicken fried steak, which she didn’t eat. Do you know what a
handy
is?”

“Do you know what a broken nose is?”

I balled up my fist. Harry didn’t flinch. He knew I wasn’t actually going to beat him up. But if the only way to stop his comedy routine was with threats, I had one that would work. I dug my Colt out of my Michael Kors purse and pointed it at the bronze statue on his nightstand.

“Not my Erté
Prisoner of Love
! Okay, I thought my playful banter might loosen your resolve, but you win. While you were in Florida, a woman came to see you at the office. A writer named Katie Glente. She wanted to hire us to find Luther Kite.”

He went through it all, up to Phin making him promise not to tell me anything. Then we watched the YouTube video on his tablet.

I was no stranger to graphic images, but this one made my stomach juices curdle. The screaming of the man being towed along the pavement, plus the obvious delight of his tormentors, wasn’t something I’d forget anytime soon.

And the drivers did indeed look like Lucy and Luther. They also fit the profile. Their particular idea of fun.

“That’s… awful,” I said.

“Yeah. It’s kind of a drag.”

“Jesus, Harry.”

“I also could have made a streaking joke. Because the guy is naked, and leaving a long, red streak.”

“You’re a horrible human being.”

He grinned. “I’m a horrible human being, who also tracked down where it happened.”

“And?”

Harry clasped his hands behind his head and leaned back, his victory pose. “Don’t you want to know how I did it?”

“You enhanced the video and ran the license plates.”

The victory pose vanished. “You’re a buzz kill, you know that?”

“Where are they, McGlade?”

“Mexicali. Off of Mexican Federal Highway 5. I’m guessing the owner of the truck is the poor guy being dragged. Roberto Salazar. Single, Mexican citizen, currently between jobs. And by the look of that beaten down truck, not doing very well for himself. You could say he was just scraping by.”

Ugh. And I worked with Harry by choice.

“Did you share any of this with Phin?”

“He left before I knew any of it.”

“And you haven’t been in touch?”

McGlade shook his head. “You’ve obviously tried to call him.”

“His phone is off. I haven’t heard from him since yesterday.”

“Check the bankpants?”

“Stop saying pants, McGlade, or I’ll punch you in yours.”

“Geez, no need to be so crabbypa—” He was lucky he stopped himself.

“I checked the bank,” I said. “He hasn’t been using his debit card.”

“Phin’s not the sharpest knife in the chandelier, but he’s smart enough to figure out the YouTube video came from Mexico.”

I didn’t bother correcting McGlade’s mixed metaphor. Instead I tried to put myself in my husband’s head. He was, obviously, going to try and kill Luther and Lucy to protect me and Sam. He would have seen the license plates on the truck, and the highway sign, and headed southwest. I knew Phin was resourceful, and determined, and could find people. But serial killers tended to be harder to track down than the average street thug. Phin could get lucky, but I didn’t think his particular skill set would be enough to track down two sociopaths who made a career out of avoiding detection.

That gave me a little bit of reassurance. Because even though I’d bet on Phin in a bar fight over just about any other man I’d ever met, and I knew he had no reluctance when it came to ending a life if the situation called for it, he wasn’t equipped to handle the type of evil that serial killers represented. Luther Kite wouldn’t want to meet him face-to-face, one-on-one, on equal terms. Luther was more like a scorpion, hiding in a shoe, waiting for someone to slip a bare foot inside. If Phin found Luther and Lucy first, he’d quickly put an end to them both.

But if they found him first…

“The worst thing he could do,” I said, “would be to go slumming around Mexico with a picture of Luther Kite, trying to beat information out of lowlifes.”

Harry had begun the Waveya video again. “And you think that’s probably his plan?”

“He’s not exactly subtle.”

“So we either need to find him before he finds Luther and Lucy, or find Luther and Lucy before they find Phin.”

“We?”

My partner nodded. “I’m in. Harry Junior is spending the week with the Queen Bitch Who Eats Men’s Souls—”

“His mother.”

“—and we’ve got nothing pressing on our schedule other than the Morrow affair. I can string him along for a few more days. I’d be doing him a favor anyways. No one likes to see pics of their wife with some stud balls deep in her backdoor.”

McGlade, annoying as he was, could prove helpful. At the very least, he’d be able to cover my back.

“Do you still have Katie Glente’s card?”

“You want to pump her for more info?”

“Something like that.”

McGlade leaned over and grabbed his wallet off the nightstand. “She wrote about us, you know. You, more than me. One of her books was about those Feebie tools in ViCAT. Another was about Andrew Thomas. We were footnotes, but from what I read her research was solid. Ah, here we go.” McGlade produced a business card.

“Hand it over.”

“This isn’t Katie. This is Sinnamon, the escort. I think she’s bi, if you’re interested. I won’t tell Phin.” He closed his eyes and sniffed the card. “Mmm. Smells like daddy issues and ruined self-esteem.”

I considered threating his art again, but McGlade must have read my intent because he found Katie’s card. No address on it, just her name, phone number, and website URL. Michigan area code.

“Can you turn off the Korean dance troupe?”

“I cannot. Waveya and I are in love, and no one can stop us from being together.” He noticed my glare and added, “But I can turn down the sound.”

Harry continued to bounce his head along to the muted video as I dialed. Someone picked up on the third ring.

“Katie Glente.”

“Ms. Glente, this is Jack Daniels. I heard you were looking for me.”

“Yes, Lt. Daniels. I’m a big fan of your work. I’d be very interested in meeting with you.”

“Ninety minutes,” I said. “My house. I assume you know where it is.”

“I do. That’s great, I’ll see you—”

I hung up. There was no need to chat now when I was going to meet her. I much preferred seeing the person when speaking to them, because then I could judge body language.

“What’s your take on Katie Glente?”

Harry shrugged. “I’d hit that.”

“You’d hit anything with two tits and a pulse.”

“Untrue. The pulse is optional. And so are tits.” He glanced at the Avon Walk for Breast Cancer poster hanging on the wall. Harry walked last year, and had actually helped raise over thirty thousand dollars for the cause. “Boobs don’t make a woman sexy, Jackie. Her heart and courage are what makes her sexy.”

“Stop acting noble, McGlade. You played the caring guy card to get laid.”

“And I did. Four times, to be exact. But who’s counting? Or taking pictures? Did you want to see pictures? I have a lot. About twice as many as I got during the Muscular Dystrophy Walk.”

“There are so many words I could use to describe you, none of them flattering.”

He shrugged. “I can’t help it. I’m a connoisseur of the fairer sex. I also did pretty good at the Alzheimer’s Walk, but I doubt any of the women I drilled would remember it.”

I only had myself to blame. “Other than wanting to nail her, what was your impression of Glente?”

“Smart. Tough. Has an edge to her.”

“Anything… off?”

“I didn’t notice anything.”

I searched his face, “You sure?”

McGlade probably wasn’t the one to ask. He’d married a woman who cut off his hand, so he wasn’t exactly the best judge of crazypants.

Shit, now he had me doing it.

“I get what you’re saying.” Harry raised his rubber-encased prosthesis, and the mechanical gears inside whirred until he was giving me the finger. “No, she didn’t seem like she wanted to torture me to death. And I’ve gotten better at reading people in recent years. Are you just being your usual, paranoid self?”