Scream for Me (10 page)

His eyes were bright blue and completely focused on her face, and Alex found herself staring too closely. His nose was sharp and his lips firm, but all in all, his features worked together to make him a very ruggedly handsome man. She remembered him holding her hand, then remembered he most likely knew more than he’d let on. “I appreciate you being willing to come with me.”

One side of his mouth lifted, softening the harshness of his features. “I have to change and walk my dog. You can come in or sit out here, but it’s getting cooler.”

It was, actually. Now that the sun had gone down, there was a hard chill in the air. Still, prudence prevailed. “It’s okay. I’ll wait.”

He lifted one blond brow. “Alex, you’re trusting me to take you to Peachtree and Pine. My living room is a good bit safer, that I can assure you. But it’s up to you.”

“Put that way . . .” She rolled up her window, grabbed her satchel, and locked up her car. She looked up to find Vartanian eyeing the satchel dubiously.

“I don’t want to know if you’re carrying anything nasty in there, because unless you have a permit to carry a concealed, you’d be breaking the law.”

“That would bad of me,” Alex said, blinking her eyes, and his lips twitched.

“Now if you were to leave the satchel in my private residence . . . that would be okay.”

“No kids in your house?”

He took her elbow and led her up the sidewalk. “Just Riley, but he doesn’t have opposable thumbs, so he’s safe.” He unlocked his front door and disengaged his alarm. “That’s him.”

Alex laughed as a droopy-looking basset hound sat up and yawned. “Oh, he’s cute!”

“Yeah, well, he has his moments. Just don’t feed him anything.” And with that cryptic advice, Vartanian jogged up the stairs, leaving Alex alone in his living room. It was a nice enough living room, more comfortable than the one she’d left behind in Cincinnati, which wasn’t hard to accomplish. The super-size flat-screen TV was the centerpiece of the room. A pool table dominated his dining room and in the corner was a shiny mahogany bar, complete with stools and a
Dogs Playing Poker
painting.

She chuckled again, then started when something poked her calf. She hadn’t heard his dog approach, but there Riley stood, gazing up soulfully. She’d crouched to scratch behind the hound’s ears when Vartanian reappeared, looking completely different in faded jeans and an Atlanta Braves sweatshirt, carrying a leash.

“He likes you,” Vartanian said. “He won’t walk across the room for just anyone.”

Alex stood up when Vartanian leaned down to snap the leash on the dog’s collar. “I’m going to get a dog,” she said. “It’s on my list of things to do tomorrow.”

“That makes me feel a whole lot better than the thought of you depending on a gun.”

Her chin went up. “I’m not stupid, Agent Vartanian. I know a barking dog is a greater deterrent to intruders than a poorly handled handgun. But I’d rather hedge my bets.”

He grinned and stood up, tugging Riley toward the door. “You might have a point there, Alex. You want to come with us? I think Riley wants you to.”

Riley had dropped to his belly, ears splayed straight out, nose pointed straight at Alex. Drowsily he blinked up at her and Alex had to chuckle again. “What a ham. But I think I’d need a more active dog. More of a watchdog.”

“Believe it or not, this boy can move when he wants to.”

Riley padded between them as Vartanian led them out his front door and back down to the sidewalk. “Well, he’s moving now,” Alex said. “But he’s still no watchdog.”

“No, he’s a huntin’ dog. He’s won awards.” They walked in companionable silence for a time and then Vartanian asked, “Does your niece like dogs?”

“I don’t know. I just met her two days ago and she hasn’t been very . . . engaged.” Alex frowned. “I don’t know if she’s scared of dogs or even if she’s allergic. I don’t have her medical history. Damn, that’s one more thing to add to the list.”

“Before you buy a dog, see how she does around Riley. If she’s afraid of
him
, any other dog might be too much.”

“I hope she likes dogs. I’d like to snag her interest in something.” Alex sighed. “Hell, I’d just like to see her do something besides color all day.”

“She colors?”

“She’s obsessed.” And before she knew it, Alex had spilled the whole story and they were back in his living room. “I just wish I knew what she’s seen. It terrifies me.”

Riley flopped to the floor with a dramatic sigh, and as one they crouched to scratch the dog’s floppy ears. “It doesn’t sound good,” he said. “What are you going to do when your cousin goes home tomorrow?”

“I don’t know.” Alex looked into Daniel Vartanian’s kind eyes and felt the connection once again, even though he hadn’t touched her. “I have no idea.”

“And that scares you,” he said softly.

She nodded tightly. “I seem to be scared a lot lately.”

“I’m sure our department psychologist could recommend a specialist for children.”

“Thank you,” she murmured, and as she stared at his face, something between them shifted. Settled. And Alex drew her first easy breath all day.

Vartanian swallowed, then stood, ending the moment. “Your jacket’s still too fancy for where we’re going.” He went to his coat closet and began moving hangers around with more force than he probably needed to. Finally he emerged with an old high school letter jacket. “I was skinnier then. This might actually not swallow you whole.”

He held it out and she shrugged out of her jacket and into his. It smelled like him and Alex fought the urge to sniff the sleeve with all the finesse of Riley. “Thank you.”

He nodded but said nothing, setting his alarm and locking his door behind them. When they got to his car, she looked up again and caught her breath. His eyes were piercing as always, but there was something more now, a hunger that should have scared her, but with which she found herself fascinated instead.

“You’ve been nice to me, Agent Vartanian. Nicer than you needed to be. Why?”

“I don’t know,” he said, so quietly she shivered. “I have no idea.”

“And . . . that scares you?” she asked, purposely repeating his line.

One side of his mouth lifted in a wry gesture she was coming to appreciate. “Let’s just say it’s . . . unfamiliar ground.” He opened her car door. “Let’s go to Peachtree and Pine. It’s still cold enough at night that a good number of the city’s homeless head for the shelters. The shelters are pretty well filled by six, so by the time we get there, they should be finished serving supper. Looking for Bailey will be easier that way.”

She waited until he’d slid behind the wheel. “I wish I had a current picture of her. I know they’d have one at the salon where she works—on her cosmetologist’s license. But I got so busy I forgot to call and they’re closed now.”

He pulled a folded sheet of paper from his shirt pocket. “I ran her driver’s license before I left the office. It’s not glamorous, but it’s recent.”

Alex’s throat closed. In the photo, a clear-eyed Bailey smiled. “Oh. Bailey.”

Vartanian shot her a puzzled sideways glance. “I didn’t think she looked bad.”

“No. She looks good. I’m so relieved and . . . sad at the same time. She was so out of her mind the last time I saw her. I kept wishing I could see her look like this again.” Alex pursed her lips. “Now she might be dead.”

Vartanian gave her shoulder a quick squeeze. “Don’t think it. Think positive.”

Alex took a deep breath, her shoulder tingling from his touch. This was something to think about that was positive. “All right. I’ll try.”

Atlanta, Monday, January 29, 7:30 p.m.

She was married now, to some rich stockbroker she’d met in college. She’d gone to college, while he’d . . .
While I rotted in a cell.
His payback list had become quite long during his unfortunate incarceration. She was right up there near the top.

Her heels clacked on the concrete floor as she came out of the elevator to the parking garage. She was dressed to the nines tonight. She wore mink and some perfume that probably cost four hundred dollars an ounce. The pearls at her neck gleamed in the dome light as she settled herself behind the wheel.

He waited patiently for her to shut her door and start the engine. Then quick as a whisper he slipped the knife to her throat and shoved a handkerchief in her mouth.

“Drive,” he murmured, and he chuckled when, wide-eyed, she obeyed. He told her where to go, where to turn, enjoying the terror in her eyes every time she looked up into her rearview mirror. She didn’t recognize him, and while this was advantageous in the everyday, he wanted her to know exactly who now controlled her life. And death.

“Don’t tell me you don’t know me, Claudia. Think back to the night of your senior prom. It wasn’t so long ago.” Her eyes flared wide and he knew the reality of her fate had fully sunk in. He laughed quietly. “You know that I can’t let you live. But if it’s any consolation, I wouldn’t have anyway.”

Monday, January 29, 7:45 p.m.

Bailey blinked, slowly coming awake. The floor was cold against her cheek. She heard footsteps out in the hall. He was coming.
Not again.

She braced herself for the light. For the pain. But the door never opened. Instead, she heard another door open and the sick thud of dead weight as someone was thrown into the cell next to her. A voice moaned in pain. It sounded like a man.

Then from the hall
he
spoke, his voice shaking with rage. “I’ll be back in a few hours. Think about what I said. What I did. How much you hurt right now. And think about the right way to answer my questions the next time.”

She clenched her jaw, so afraid she’d cry out, that she’d call attention to herself in some way. But the door in the next cell swung shut and there was only silence.

She’d been spared, for now. For now, there would be no beating, no punishment for her insolent refusal to tell him what he wanted to hear. The voice next door moaned again, so pitifully. It would appear he’d caught another fly in his web.

No one was coming for her. Nobody was even looking for her.
I’ll never see my baby again
. Tears squeezed from her eyes and ran down her cheek. It was no use to even scream. Anyone who could hear her was locked inside, too.

Atlanta, Monday, January 29, 9:15 p.m.

“Bailey Crighton?” The woman who’d introduced herself as Sister Anne put a tray full of dirty dishes on the kitchen counter. “What about her?”

In front of him Alex Fallon stood clutching Bailey’s driver’s license picture that she’d already shown at four other shelters. “I’m looking for her. Have you seen her?”

“Depends. You a cop?”

Alex shook her head. “No,” she said and Daniel noticed she said nothing about him.

Watching Alex Fallon in action had been an educational experience. She’d never outright lied anywhere they’d gone, but was quite adept at telling only as much as she needed to tell and letting people believe what they would. But she was tired and discouraged and now he could hear a tremble in her voice that made him want to make it better somehow. Any way he could.

“I’m a nurse. Bailey’s my stepsister and she’s missing. Have you seen her?”

Sister Anne cast a suspicious glance at Daniel.

“Please,” he mouthed silently and her eyes softened.

“She comes here every Sunday. Yesterday was the first day she’d missed in years. I’ve been worried.”

It was the first time anyone had admitted to having seen Bailey, although Daniel could tell a few of them had seen her and had been too skittish to admit it.

“She comes here on Sundays?” Alex asked. “Why?”

Sister Anne smiled. “Her pancakes are the best around.”

“She makes happy-face pancakes for the kids,” another woman said as she brought in another tray of dirty dishes. “What’s wrong with Bailey?”

“She’s missing,” Sister Anne said.

“She volunteers here, then?” Daniel asked, and Sister Anne bobbed her head.

“For five years now, ever since she’s been sober. How long has she been missing?”

“Since Thursday night.” Alex straightened her spine. “Do you know Hope?”

“Of course. That doll-baby can talk a blue streak and I love hearing every word.” She frowned abruptly, glancing at them through narrowed eyes. “Is Hope missing, too?”

“No, she’s been staying with me and my cousin,” Alex said quickly. “But she’s not well. She hasn’t said a word since I got here on Saturday.”

Sister Anne looked perplexed. “That’s very wrong. Tell me what happened.”

Alex did and Sister Anne started shaking her head. “There is
no
way that Bailey would ever abandon that child. Hope was her life.” She sighed. “Hope saved her life.”

“So Bailey was a regular here before she got sober?” Daniel asked.

“Oh, yeah. Here and at the methadone clinic up the street. But that was then. I’ve seen junkies come and go for thirty years. I can tell who’s gonna make it and who’s not. Bailey was gonna make it. Coming here every week was her way of keeping her head straight, of making her remember what she was so she wouldn’t go back. She was making a life for herself and that baby of hers. There is no way she gave up on Hope.” She bit at her lip, hesitating. “Did you talk to her daddy?”