The Blind (10 page)

Sunday, November 1
6:51 a.m.

S
o what is this place?” Evie asked over the roar of the whisking rotors as she and Jack dashed across the roof of the Elliott Tower. On the overnight flight from southwestern Pennsylvania, they managed to snag a few hours' sleep. This morning Jack no longer looked shell-shocked and in need of a stiff drink. Far from it. Before the plane landed, he'd slipped on a fresh shirt and suit, shaved, and arranged for a helicopter to take them from LAX to the Elliott Tower. He was a man charging ahead to find his long-lost sister.

Jack slipped a hand along her waist, escorting her toward the roof access door. “A rooftop,” he shouted.

The wind lifted her hair, the ends slapping her across the face as if to wake her. Oh, she was awake all right, especially the skin at the base of her spine where Jack's fingers set off hot, wild sparks. And of course her own fingers still pulsed with a heat from where his lips had touched last night. Evie grabbed his hand and jogged past the door to the other side of the roof. “I mean this.”

The helicopter took off, the
rota-swoosh
and brisk wind fading.

“A garden,” Jack said.

“On a roof?” She strolled to a pair of pergolas that housed wooden planters with shrubs and flowers, bronze sculptures, and stone pathways winding through thick grass and along wooden benches.

“These types of enhanced work spaces boost employee morale and give employees a convenient, aesthetically appealing place to take breaks and eat lunch. It's a bottom-line booster.”

Evie dipped her fingers into water cascading along a sheet of copper into a koi pond. “It's beautiful.”

Jack cast a quick glance at the fountain, then checked the face of his watch. “I guess it is.”

“You don't get up here much, do you?”

“No, not on this side of the roof.”

“You have beautiful gardens you don't stroll through and beautiful paintings you don't look at.” She threw back her arms as if to embrace the sky. “You, Jack Elliott, are missing out on life.”

A slow smile curved his lips. “That may be the case, and we can certainly discuss the deplorable situation that is my social life after we meet with Agent MacGregor.”

Flinging the water from her fingers, she followed him back to the door. As she had mentioned to Jack on the flight back to L.A., Jon MacGregor, her team's endangered-and-missing-child expert, had flown in to spearhead the search for Abby Elliott. They were scheduled to meet first thing this morning.

At the door to the roof stairs, Jack dug into his pants pocket and frowned. He patted his suit coat and shirt pockets. The frown reached his eyes.

“What is it?” Evie asked.

“I left my key card in my other suit coat.”

“No worries.” She dug into her bag and pulled out her key card. “I got us covered.”

He waved it off. “Visitor badges don't allow roof access.”

She swiped anyway. The dot remained red.

Jack dug out his phone and jabbed at the face. He barked an order, then disconnected the call with another jab. “Security will have a man here in ten minutes.” He jabbed at the phone again. “Let me call my maintenance team and see if they can get here quicker.” His face now sported a full-fledged scowl.

“It's not that big a deal, and there are worse places to be stranded.” Evie wandered back toward the garden. Back home in Albuquerque, she had a potted cactus garden one of her nephews had made her for her last birthday, the perfect type of garden for her as it could stand the heat, was small, and didn't need much tending.

“As you keep reminding me, a clock is ticking.” More than a hint of irritation edged his words.

She laughed and sat on a bench near the copper-sheeted fountain. “This isn't about a clock, Jack. It's about you making a mistake.”

As expected, he strode to her side. “Excuse me.”

She propped her boots on the rock surrounding the koi pond. “You're the type of guy who doesn't make mistakes, and it ticks you off that you left your key card in your other coat.”

He watched the fish slide in and out of light dappling the waters before shaking his head and sitting next to her. “I take it you know this because you're not the type of gal who makes mistakes.”

A laugh ripped from her chest. “Hardly.”

“There's no room for error in the bomb business,” he argued.

“True. I don't cross wires while at work, but I'm no stranger to messes.”

This time he laughed as he reached out and plucked a leaf from her hair. “So you get a little ruffled.” He held up the leaf.

She plucked it from his fingers. “Oh, no. I make full-on mistakes.”

“Like?”

“I think we'll need more than ten minutes.”

“Like?” He kept that intense gaze on her, a man who commands attention and answers. But she didn't have anything to hide.

She cupped her hands behind her head. Where to start? “Like having an egg hunt with my nephews last Easter in my mom and dad's house and not being able to track down all the eggs. For three months the house stank until my mom unearthed the last of the rotten eggs, which six-year-old Tommy had hidden in a vent in the laundry room.”

“I call that unbridled enthusiasm.”

“And there was the time just last month when my teammate Finn Brannigan asserted his motorcycle was faster than my truck. Of course I had to prove him wrong, and I did until a cop pulled me over just as I got the speedometer past one hundred. Definitely a mistake, and for the record, we both got speeding tickets.”

“And that's team bonding.”

She could see why Jack Elliott was so successful in business. He could put a twist on anything he wished. She unlaced her hands and let them fall in her lap. Did he even remember kissing her fingers? Did he sense the jolt his lips had sent through her entire body? “And then there's last night.”

A vertical line striped the center of his forehead. “What mistake did you make last night?”

She grabbed his hand and twined her fingers with his. Last night he'd been vulnerable when he admitted his hope, his bone-deep desire, that his sister was still alive. Looking at him over their clasped hands, she said point-blank, “I should have kissed you back.”

Jack's eyes sparked, and she knew he remembered the touch of his lips to her fingers. His shoulders, so wide they blocked the rising sun behind him, bounced in a soft laugh. “You're fearless.”

“Does that bother you?”

“No, not at all. I like strong, courageous, independent women.”

“Is that the type you take to your bed?”

“I…” He tilted his head, not a single wave of hair falling out of place. “Yes, it is.”

“That's good to know.” Because knowns were always so much easier to work with. She was about to open her mouth, when the roof access door opened, a harried security guard rushing at them and apologizing for not getting there sooner.

For a solid five seconds, Jack stared at their clasped hands before turning to the guard. “No worries,” Jack said as he pulled her to her feet and walked her toward the stairs, their fingers still intertwined.

7:22 a.m.

“Pull over,” Evie said as Jack turned onto Sixth Street in the Arts District. “There's Jon.” This morning her teammate Jon MacGregor could have passed for a well-turned-out artist type. Black trousers, mock black turtleneck, and a gaze so intense, Evie could feel the razor-sharpness as they pulled into the parking lot of a seafood warehouse.

After a quick greeting, Jon handed each of them a stapled batch of papers. He was all business, and despite the moment on the rooftop, she and Jack were back to the business of finding his sister. “Here's the hit list. I checked classified ads and real estate publications from fifteen years ago and came up with twelve leads of low-rent spaces targeting the artist crowd. If Abby came to this area, it's likely she stayed in one of these buildings. This morning I'm going to visit all of the warehouses and talk to property management companies and see if I can get a bead on Abby, and especially for you, Evie, I got the name of a street cop who's been working with runaways down here for twenty years.”

Evie's dad had worked his entire life as a beat cop for Albuquerque PD. He never wanted to make detective, never wanted to get into vice or homicide. He wanted to be on the streets because according to him, that's where it all started and ended. Evie nudged Jack in the stomach. “I told you he was good.” She skimmed through the papers. “When I'm done with the cop, I'll help you tackle buildings.”

“Sounds good.” The serious set of Jon's eyes softened. “And stay safe.”

Damn that shooter for taking a potshot at her in the alley. First Hayden and now Jon was concerned about her.
Her.
She clapped her teammate on the shoulder. “Sure, Jon. You too.”

Downtown Los Angeles wasn't a war zone, but this morning it reminded Evie of her days in Afghanistan, the days she watched the skies for incoming rounds and checked carefully around corners for things that went
boom
. The air hummed, as if charged by a low-voltage current of expectation. Today was the first of November, and the Angel Bomber could strike anywhere at any time.

On their drive to the Arts District, they'd passed three patrol cars and a patrolman on foot. In Little Tokyo a K-9 walked the streets with his handler. At this hour as dawn made way for day, the streets were empty and quiet, but soon people would gather for Sunday-morning services, coffee, and playdates at the park.

She pictured infants in swings, strollers, and their mothers' arms.
Stay safe
.

8:59 a.m.

The Paz de Cristo warehouse smelled of roasted turkey and unwashed bodies. Evie and Jack wound their way through row after row of picnic tables and benches to light spilling from a door leading to an industrial kitchen.

A woman with plastic gloves and a potato peeler in her hand waved them in. “Excellent! So glad you're here. A youth group from Pasadena was supposed to help, but their bus broke down on the One-Ten Freeway.”

Evie took out her shield. “We're looking for Officer Alfred Nunez? We were told he volunteers here every Sunday.” Paz de Cristo was one of downtown's many outreach programs that served the hungry and homeless.

“Yep. Great guy. He's getting the last tier of the wedding cake.” The woman pointed her potato peeler at a two-tiered cake on the counter with red roses and gold piping. “He should be back in a few minutes.”

Jack put on a pair of gloves and picked up a potato peeler and began to peel potatoes. Evie wasn't surprised. He was a man most comfortable at work. And she liked that about him.

“Someone getting married?” Evie motioned to the wedding cake.

“The couple who bought the cake was supposed to get married yesterday, but the bride called it off right before she walked down the aisle,” the kitchen manager said. “Literally. She was watching her two little flower girls toss petals as they made their way toward the altar and realized she didn't want to have kids with the man waiting at the end of the aisle for her. Heartbreaking for everyone, but I'm grateful they thought of us. The cake will easily feed two hundred of our guests.”

As Jack started on his second potato, Officer Nunez, a twenty-year veteran of the streets of downtown L.A., walked in with more wedding cake. “You from Captain Ricci's team?”

Evie nodded. “Thanks for meeting with us.”

“Hope I can be of help. This guy's messing with my streets, and I want him stopped.” He set the cake on the counter. “What can I do?”

Evie took Abby Elliott's junior-year school photo from her bag. “Do you recognize this girl?”

Officer Nunez rubbed at the stubble on his jaw. “She's a sweet-looking young woman but sad.”

“At the time this picture was taken she was very sad,” Jack said.

“She would have landed in the downtown area about fifteen years ago,” Evie added. “She was tall, about five-ten and thin. She was an—”

“—artist,” Officer Nunez said with a snap of his fingers. “Yeah, I remember her. She was a painter. Used to sit outside on sunny days and paint. Luz was her name.”

A spike of heat ran up Evie's back. “That's Spanish for light. Have you seen her recently?”

Officer Nunez shook his head. “Not for years. She was one of the more talented artists and was working regularly down at one of the beaches. I figured things must have taken off for her and she got to a better place.”

A place of light and laughter, Evie prayed. “But she lived down here?”

“Yep, the Twin Citrus building off Santa Fe. It was one of those places with cheap rent, but a developer came in a few years ago and turned it into fancy lofts. No street kids hanging out there these days.”

“Did the girl you knew as Luz have any friends?” Evie asked.

“She was well-liked, always laughing, the kind of person who drew others to her.”

“Any boyfriend?”

“Not that I remember, but I only knew her for that one summer.”

“Do you remember any young males, between the ages of fifteen and twenty, who may have been interested in her or maybe who she sat for as a model? A loner type. Also an artist who may have a bit of a darker side.”

“Nothing comes to mind.”

Evie handed him her card. “If you think of something, let me know.”

Officer Nunez handed the photo back to Evie and tilted his chin at Jack who'd peeled the potato down to a stub. “Did you know her?”

“She was my sister.” Jack's throat convulsed. “I mean, is.”

It was heartbreaking to watch Jack's face. She couldn't imagine being in his place, thinking one of her brothers long-dead but then having a sliver of hope lodge in her heart.