Sweet Reward (3 page)

Though life experience had aged her considerably, Sandi was most likely still a teen. Forties probably
was
old to her.

“What about hair color?”

Sandi slowly began to describe the men, her descriptions
surprisingly vivid and detailed as she warmed to her task. Flipping to a clean piece of paper, Mia sketched the men. When Sandi stopped, Mia quickly finished her hasty drawing and then turned the paper for the girl to see. “Did they look anything like this?”

The gasp Sandi released told Mia she’d nailed the drawings. Not for the first time, she was grateful for the art classes her elite education had provided.

As Sandi suggested a few changes in the drawings, Mia absently made them while her mind zoomed toward what she needed to do. These men weren’t any she’d seen or heard of before. Since setting up her rescue business, she’d become acquainted with the local slime that traded in people as if they were marketable merchandise instead of human beings. In some cases, she’d helped the police put the creeps away; others continued to evade detection. But she knew most of them by sight or reputation. These men were new.

What had they done with Sandi’s one-year-old daughter? Was the child even still in Chicago, or had she been taken to another state already? Or another country?

“If I get your daughter back, Sandi, you’re going to have to clean yourself up and be the mother your child deserves. You going to be able to do that?”

The emphatic nod seemed genuine, but Sandi’s physical appearance indicated that she was a longtime addict. Making promises and not following through was as habitual to her as the drug itself. Little did the girl know that Mia would make sure that either she cleaned herself up or the child would be taken away from her. She’d do all she could to help, but no way in hell was she going to put a kid back into her mother’s arms if she was going to be endangered or sold again.

Mia opened a drawer in her desk, withdrew a disposable phone, and handed it to the younger woman. “I
need to be able to get in touch with you. My number is already on speed dial. I’ll call you if I have other questions, and if you think of something else, you can get in touch with me at any time.”

The girl stood. “That’s it? Is there anything else I can do?”

“Yes. Clean up and get yourself some food. There’s a restaurant on Eighteenth Street called Maxie’s. Tell them Mia sent you. They’ll feed you as many times as you need. Do you have a place to stay?”

“I’m staying with a friend.”

“Is your friend using?”

“No. She’s been trying to get me clean. She’s the one who told me to come see you.”

Eager to get started on the investigation, Mia stood and walked the girl to the door. “I’ll call you as soon as I know something. And remember, if you think of anything, call me. Okay?”

Sandi nodded, her eyes filling with tears. “Do you think they’re feeding and taking care of her?”

As much as she wanted to snarl at the girl that her motherly concern was too little, too late, she wouldn’t. Having Sandi’s cooperation was imperative. Mia had learned long ago to keep judgment out of her tone and manner. Putting people on the defensive rarely helped a case.

However, neither would she lie. “I don’t know what their plans are for your daughter, but I promise I’ll do all I can to bring her home.”

The instant Sandi cleared the door, Mia turned back to her desk. Even with a detailed description of the men, she had her work cut out for her.

She picked up her phone and began to make calls to the network of people she relied on daily for help. The little girl had been gone for two weeks. Finding her after
such a long time was going to take everything she had, but she refused to believe it wasn’t possible.

Having overcome impossible odds before, Mia was determined that this would be just one more challenge she would conquer.

Slouched in his office chair, Noah McCall studied a grim-faced Jared Livingston beneath half-closed lids. He’d seen a lot of determined people over the years, but never had he seen one more focused. Others, even the most skilled LCR operatives, sometimes allowed emotions and insecurities to alter their thoughts and lead them off task. Not Livingston. Noah knew that the man wasn’t a machine, but only because robots didn’t curse with such frequency or creativity. That was about the only difference between the two he’d seen so far. And the longer it took to find his ex-wife’s child, the darker and grimmer the man became.

His gaze left the brooding operative and moved to the man seated beside Livingston. Lucas Kane had, at one time, been Jared’s best friend. They’d served together in a shadowy and secretive government agency known as International Deep Cover (IDC). Though Kane was British and Livingston American, IDC was a global agency. Borders and territories were blurred and the agents worked together to prevent terrorism worldwide. Noah had only heard rumors about such an agency before he’d met Lucas Kane. And he’d been impressed with Kane’s qualifications. When Lucas had given high praise for his friend
Jared Livingston, Noah had hired the man. And as far as skills were concerned, he’d seen none equal to Livingston’s.

It struck Noah as strange that Kane and Livingston had been such good friends. Their backgrounds couldn’t have been more different. Kane was from one of the wealthiest families in the world, and according to the little Livingston had been willing to share about his past, the man came from nothing—quite literally.

Dissension had developed between the two after Livingston’s divorce. And from Noah’s viewpoint, it was all Livingston’s doing. Jared Livingston had closed himself off from everyone. Hell of it was, he hadn’t had that many people in his life to begin with. But that was a worry for another day.

“Okay,” Noah said, “let’s retrace our steps and see where we are.”

Livingston nodded. “I’ve investigated the hell out of Carter Dennison, the housekeeper, the babysitter, all their friends, and co-workers at the hospital. Even their patients. There’s nothing there that would indicate a need for revenge or, hell, even money. No ransom demand.” His jaw tightened. “Looks like a stranger did it.”

“Damn bold for someone to walk into a private home and walk out with a baby,” Noah said.

Livingston nodded and opened his mouth to respond, but before he could speak, Kane said, “And I’ve done a thorough check of Lara Dennison. So far, she doesn’t appear to be involved.”

Only by the slightest furrowing of Livingston’s brow did he indicate that Kane’s investigation into his ex-wife bothered him. Lucas wasn’t a fan of Lara Dennison and had made no bones about his antipathy. Noah suspected that loyalty to his friend was one of the biggest reasons for the dislike.

“Okay,” Noah said. “We know who it’s not. What else have you got?”

Kane shrugged. “The usual group of human traffickers we’re aware of and have been after for years, but the ones on our radar don’t fit this case. Their prime victims are usually older children, young women, or people they’ve sold as domestic slaves. Not only do these traffickers not go after infants, going into a home to grab a victim would be totally off for them.”

“So we either got a new game in town or this is an isolated case,” Livingston said.

“We got a new game in town,” Noah answered grimly. “Got a report of three other cases.”

“I haven’t heard of them.”

“They’re not local. San Francisco, Copenhagen, and Chicago.”

“Recently?”

“Within the past three months.”

“Why do you think they’re related?”

“Age of the victims and the way the investigations have gone. The method of abduction varies, but every lead is a dead end. Those things and the fact that it’s too damn mysterious and hush-hush makes me think they’re related. I’ve got Angela researching all unsolved infant and toddler abductions within the past five years.”

“We got anyone going to check out these cases?” Kane asked.

“We will soon. The one is Chicago is especially interesting.”

“How so?” Livingston asked.

“The abduction is different from the Dennisons’ child, but the age of the victim is similar. This morning, I got a call from an old acquaintance. She runs a small rescue business there and has been working the case. She’s got a couple of ideas I think are worth checking out.” His eyes
zeroed in on Livingston. “I’d like you to go to Chicago and meet with her.”

“What’s her name?”

“Mia Ryker. She’s expecting you at her office late tomorrow afternoon.”

“What information do you think she’s going to have for us?”

“If our case is related to hers, I think she’s going to have some leads and a possible suspect.”

Livingston stood and headed to the door. “Send her address to my phone. I’ll call you after I meet with her.”

Noah watched the grim-faced man leave. So far his “I don’t give a damn if I live or die” attitude had worked out for LCR. He’d been an asset and had saved lives. Hiring adrenaline junkies wasn’t usual for Noah. In fact, he’d fired more than his share. Livingston, however, didn’t seem to have a death wish as much as he didn’t appear to care what happened to him. This case might well bring everything to a head.

How would he and Mia get on? They had a hell of a lot in common, with a few significant differences. Would those differences help or hurt this case? Time would tell.

Jared stood outside the small, innocuous-looking building that housed Ryker’s Rescue. Red brick and at least half a century old, it looked more like a not-so-successful real estate office than a rescue business. Oddly, the façade’s plainness reminded him of LCR headquarters.

McCall had sent nothing to him but the address and appointment time. That’d been no problem for Jared. He’d used last night and the long flight to gather his own intel.
At least he had thought there would be no problem. He’d searched the hell out of her and had gathered only a minuscule amount of information. Mia Ryker had opened her rescue business three years ago, and she was twenty-nine years old. The one photograph he’d managed to find was a grainy black-and-white image from a newspaper report of a case she’d worked on with the police. She was standing with several people, and he could tell nothing about her other than that she was small-boned and below average height. With so little background on her to be found, it was damn odd that McCall felt she was worthy of a face-to-face meeting. The Internet searches he’d done had turned up nothing on her business, other than the date she’d opened the doors. Just how successful could she be?

Jared turned the doorknob and was about to push the door open when it swung wide and someone rammed into him. Jared grabbed the person’s upper arms and held tight. He’d lived too long to assume this wasn’t a threat.

“Unless you want your front teeth replaced with dentures, you might want to let me go.”

The words didn’t concern him—he’d heard a hell of a lot more serious threats—what surprised him was the humor in her voice. Dropping his hands, he stepped back to look down at the woman.
Delicate
was his first thought, which puzzled him because though her arms had felt feminine beneath his hands, he’d also felt firm muscles.

“I’m looking for Mia Ryker. Know her?”

“Not one for apologies, huh?”

“Do I have reason to apologize?”

The woman backed up this time, smiling with amusement. Jared felt a kick in his chest that traveled down to his gut and then lower. Hell, when was the last time a
smile had bought him that kind of a reaction? The answer would be never. And despite himself, he found his mouth moving up in something like a responding smile.
What the hell?

“The polite person would say, ‘Excuse me.’ ”

Still fighting the strange urge to smile, Jared shook his head. “I guess it’s established that I’m not polite.”

“Well, I tend to be overly polite, so I guess that makes us a good team.” She held out her hand. “I’m Mia Ryker. You must be Jared Livingston. Come on in and have a seat. Want some coffee? How was your flight?” She grimaced. “I hate flying international, don’t you? I have tea, if you’d rather. There’s some Earl Grey around here somewhere. Or some soda, maybe? Pepsi or Diet Coke okay?”

Jared followed her down a dark, narrow hallway. She opened the door into a large, sunny office, exploding with colors. In seconds, he scanned the area. Plants, healthy and thriving, overflowed a large credenza. A bright, jewel-toned sofa with colorful pillows was against one wall. Seemingly hundreds of photographs covered the walls, and various area rugs were scattered over the gleaming hardwood floor. Eclectic and vibrant—there was nothing relaxing about the decor. He knew less than zero about these things, but he liked it.

As he took all of this in, he listened to Mia chatter nonstop about drink options. So far, she’d offered him six selections and had yet to pause long enough for him to answer. Since she didn’t seem to notice that he hadn’t yet spoken, he waited to see what she would do next. Besides, he liked the sound of her rich, husky voice.

He also liked how she moved—everything she did was quick and graceful. He’d never seen anyone with more energy. She opened a small refrigerator, took out several containers, then shot a smile over her shoulder. As if he
had given her a definitive answer, she said, “Okay. Hot chocolate it is.”

And for the first time in what seemed like a lifetime, Jared wanted to laugh.

Mia knew she was acting like an idiot but couldn’t seem to stop herself. Noah had said Jared might be a bit austere; he should have left out the “bit” part. The man looked like he was made of indestructible granite. Maybe that wouldn’t have bothered her so much if he hadn’t touched her. Usually when a man put his hands on her and she hadn’t invited the touch, she’d jerk away from him. And, on occasion, she’d punch him. Not so with this man. How could one touch from a stranger cause all sorts of volcanoes to go off inside her body? Maybe she was coming down with something.