Kincaid’s Dangerous Game

Chapter 8

“Hannah Grace Bachman disappeared this morning while walking to school in this quiet suburban neighborhood just northwest of Reno. She was last seen wearing…”

“This can’t be a coincidence,” Holt said unevenly. “Who do you know who’d-”

“It’s got to be Miley.” Her voice was tight and breathless, like his was, both of them sounding like someone who’s just taken a blow to the stomach. “Who else could it be? He’s the only one who knew…but how could he have known where she was? I didn’t even know until you gave me that piece of paper-” Her face crumpled-for one brief moment-then settled into a mask of rigid control. She turned in a swift, unbalanced jerk and gripped the edge of the countertop to steady herself. “The paper-the one with her name and address-where is it? I put it down, right here. Did you see it? When we got home last night? It’s not here. It’s not here, Holt-”

“Miley must have found it when he broke in here yesterday,” he said, more calmly than he felt. “Probably right after we left. He was looking for the money, you said. I guess he figured he’d found a way to get it out of you.”

“This is my fault.” She was pacing, hugging herself, her face still empty of all emotion. Only her eyes were alive, crackling with rage, and he understood now why she wore the sunglasses when she played cards. “I should never have asked you to find her. It was stupid. Why did I think I had anything to give her? It was selfish, that’s what it was. Stupid and selfish. God, I can’t even-”

“Cut it out. You may be the reason this happened, but it’s hardly your fault. Look, there’s one good thing, at least. He’s not likely to hurt her, right?”

She stopped pacing to give him a hard look. Then she seemed to deflate as she sagged back against the counter. “I don’t know. Miley’s a weasel and a coward, but he’s desperate. Plus, the people he owes money to probably wouldn’t hesitate to hurt him and anybody else if it’ll get them what they want. And like I told you-I can’t get to the money. At least, I don’t know how to get to it. It’s in an ‘irrevocable trust’-whatever that means.”

“It means you can’t get to it,” Holt said grimly.

“Okay, so what should we do?” She seemed to vibrate with energy. He thought of a warrior, adrenaline-charged and primed for battle.

He picked up the remote and thumbed the television off. “The first thing we have to do is go to the police.”

“Go to…the police.” She said it the way someone would who hasn’t had many reasons to be reassured by that prospect.

He took her gently by the arms. “Think, Billie. That cabdriver is going to do so for sure, the minute he sees that Amber Alert. If he hasn’t already. I’m expecting to hear sirens any second.”

She stared at him as if the words weren’t making sense, and what he wanted to do more than anything in the world was pull her into his arms and just hold her for a while, until the shock of this had diminished, or at least let her know he was there to prop her up if she wanted to break down.

Fat chance of that, he thought. And anyway, there wasn’t time. He planted a quick kiss on her forehead and was about to release her when the phone rang, making them both jump and clutch at each other.

She stared at it as she might a coiled rattler, then looked back at him with a question in her eyes. He nodded. She walked over to the counter, wiped her hands on her bare thighs and picked up the phone.

Her heart banged inside her chest like something trapped and trying desperately to get out. She tried to take a breath, but there was no place to put it, so she held it and managed a raspy, “Hello?”

When Billie heard the voice on the other end she almost dropped the phone. She wanted to hurl it through the window…pound it against something until it broke into a thousand pieces.

“Hey, Billie, you watchin’ television? You seen that Amber Alert thing they got goin’ right now?” The voice sounded high, excited. Scared.

He better be scared because I’m going to kill him, she thought.

Her rage-fogged vision cleared enough so that she could see Holt trying to get her attention, his eyebrows raised in a frowning question. She threw him a look and gave a jerky nod, and he mouthed the word speaker.

She jerked the phone away from her ear, but the buttons on it were shimmering and out of focus, and her hands were shaking too hard to do anything with them anyway. Holt took the instrument out of her hands, punched a button, and Miley’s voice came slinking into the room.

“-you better turn it on. I’m not kiddin’-”

“I’ve seen it.” She felt like flint, the stuff of ancient spears-brittle, hard, capable of killing. “If you hurt her-”

“Jeez, Billie! What kinda guy do you think I am? I’m not-”

“I know what kind of guy you are, Miley-the kind who’d do anything to save his own ass. And if you touch one hair on my daughter’s head-”

“Hey. You got no room to threaten me. I’m holding the cards, here, not you. You give me what I want, I give her back to her parents, good as new. It’s as simple as that.”

Billie looked at Holt, then closed her eyes so he wouldn’t see her fear. Her fingers tightened around the phone, which had grown slippery in her hand. “Look-I told you the truth, Miley. I don’t have the money. I can’t give you what I don’t have.”

“Hey…that’s cool. You don’t have the quarter mil anymore-I get it. So, you just have to win some more. I got the buy-in money and you’re all signed up.”

Her stomach went cold. “What are you talking about?”

“The tournament-at the Mirage. You’re in. All you have to do is show up-and win, of course. You win the tournament, you give me what I need, the kid here goes home, and you get to take home what’s left of the pot. Everybody wins.”

“You are insane,” she said, unable to keep her voice steady. “I haven’t played a hand in more than three years. I’m out of practice. And what if the cards don’t go my way? You can’t seriously think-”

“You think I’m not serious?” His voice went shrill. “You think this isn’t serious, what I’m doing here? This oughta show you how serious I am. This is my life I’m talkin’ about. You better win, Billie. You hear me? You better win, and win big. Or else this kid isn’t ever gonna see her mommy and daddy again.”

“Miley, wait! At least tell me-”

But there was nothing but a dial tone. She let the phone slip from her fingers and never even saw where it fell. Her knees buckled. She felt Holt’s arms come around her and allowed herself to be held, and to hold on to him, for a moment. Just a moment. Then she pushed away from him, straightened and said hoarsely, “I’m okay. I’m okay.”

He let her go. She turned in a lost sort of way and combed the fingers of both hands through her hair. Coughed, and threw him a fierce look. “So…I guess we really have to go to the cops, huh?”

“Yeah, we do. We’re going to be their number-one suspects the minute that cabbie puts two and two together.”

“What makes you think they’re going to believe us?” she said in a bleak voice. “And if I’m in jail, how am I going to-”

“I thought about that, too. I think I know somebody who can help us.”

“So, you still have friends in law enforcement?”

“You could say that.” He gave her a dark smile. “Go get dressed so we can get out of here before the cops show up on your doorstep. I’ll tell you about it on the way.”

He waited until he heard her closet door slide back, then picked up the phone from the counter where she’d dropped it, hoping there was caller ID. There was. He hit the button for incoming calls, and at the same time he was opening and closing drawers, looking for pencil and paper. He found what he needed on the third try, scribbled down the number of the last call and tucked the paper in his shirt pocket. Then he took out his cell phone and scrolled down through his speed-dial list to the one he wanted.

A brusque voice answered on the second ring. “Portland P.D., Homicide, this is Detective Ochoa-can I help you?”

“Uh…yeah,” Holt said, “I’m looking for Wade. He anywhere around, by any chance? This is a friend of his-Holt Kincaid-I think we met last spring, during that serial killer thing…”

“Holt Kincaid…oh, yeah-the P.I., right? Sure, I remember you. Wade’s out of the office, but I’ll tell him you called.”

“He on a case?” Holt’s hopes of help were sinking fast.

The Portland detective chuckled. “Nah…I think he went home to have lunch with his wife. You know how these newlyweds are. If you have his cell or home number, you might try him there.”

“Thanks,” Holt said, and disconnected. Letting out an impatient breath, he checked his speed dial again. This time he got voice mail.

“Hey, Wade, this is Holt Kincaid. Give me a call back on my cell when you get this message. Thanks.” He hesitated, then added, “It’s important.”

He disconnected and was searching his phone book for more options when Billie came in looking flushed, tucking the tail of a black long-sleeved pullover shirt into the waistband of khaki cargo pants. She looked ready to take on the world, he thought. All she needed was a flak vest with big letters on the back that said SWAT.

“Ready?” She sounded out of breath.

“Yeah.” He tucked his cell phone in his pocket, snatched up his jacket from the chair back he’d hung it on last night-a lifetime ago. “You happen to know where the police station is?”

Naturally, his cell phone rang on the way, and just as he was maneuvering through erratic lunch-hour traffic. He fumbled the phone out of his pocket and handed it to Billie.

“Here…I don’t talk and drive. Tell him I’ll be with him as soon as I find a place to park.”

He heard her say, “Holt Kincaid’s cell phone…” and then, “Yeah, he’s right here. He just has to find a place to park. Hold on.” She held the phone face down on her thigh. “He says it’s Wade, returning your call.”

“Yeah, I know.” Muttering under his breath, Holt made a right turn down a side street and into the parking lot of an auto parts store. He pulled into an empty space and left the motor running. Billie handed him the phone.

“Hey, buddy,” he said.

Wade’s voice came back to him, sharp with suspicion. “Who was I just talking to?”

Holt said, “Uh…” and glanced over at Billie.

“You call me outta the blue, tell me to call you back, it’s important. So I do, and a woman answers the phone. You found her, didn’t you? Brooke told us you thought you might have. Tell me that wasn’t my baby sister I was just talking to.”

“Uh…” said Holt again, but this time at least he had the presence of mind not to look at Billie. “Yeah…and I’ll tell you all about that later. Right now, though, we’ve got a bit of a situation. May have. I don’t suppose you have any friends in the Las Vegas Police Department?”

“We?” Wade’s tone was instantly serious. “Is my sister in trouble with the law? Again? My God, Kincaid, is this another situation like Brooke’s?”

“No, no-nothing like that. At least…I hope not. May need you to put in a good word for us, though. If you wouldn’t mind.”

“Mind? Hell, I’ll do better than that. I’ve got some personal time coming. How ’bout I see you there in…say, what?” There was some muffled mumbling, and then, in the kind of quiet voice he’d probably use to calm distraught witnesses: “Tee’s already looking up flights. She says it’s important, and you know I don’t argue with her about things like that.”

“Wade? If you wouldn’t mind, it might be a good idea to bring her along, too.”

Wade gave a snort of laughter. “You think she’d let me leave her behind? She’s just reminded me we haven’t really had a honeymoon yet, plus she’s never been to Vegas. We’re on our way, my friend. You just hang in there-and in the meantime, you take good care of my baby sister, you hear me?”

“I mean to,” Holt said softly, and disconnected. He looked over at Billie and found her watching him, and for once he couldn’t read her eyes. “What?” he said as he handed her the phone, more sharply than he meant.

Her gaze didn’t waver. She took a quick little breath, hesitated another second, then said slowly, “I’ve just been remembering something. You told me one of my brothers is named Wade, and that he’s a cop in Portland, Oregon. Tell me the truth, Kincaid. Was I just talking to my brother?”

“Yeah, you were.” And because he suddenly realized his own emotions were piling up behind the dam of his self-control, and he for sure didn’t want to deal with her family issues, he put the Mustang in Reverse and backed out of the parking space.

“And he knows it was me?”

“Yep.”

“And he’s coming to help us? Just…like that?”

“You’re his sister,” Holt said flatly, as the Mustang lurched out of the parking lot and back onto the street. “It’s what families do. Help each other when they need it. Get used to it.”

She didn’t reply, and he drove for a good way in silence.

It wasn’t until he was pulling into the parking lot at the police headquarters that it hit him. He gave a sharp bark of laughter, and Billie’s head jerked toward him.

“I just thought of something,” he said, grinning and slowly shaking his head. “You’re not gonna believe this. This brother of yours. He’s a police detective, right?” She nodded in puzzled agreement. “And guess what, his last name is Callahan.”

She still looked uncomprehending, so he added in exasperation, “You said it-Dirty Harry, remember?”

She covered her eyes with one hand, laughing silently.

Billie had been in police stations before. Those past experiences had not been pleasant, and so far this one wasn’t any better. She felt nervous and scared, for a lot of good reasons, but more than that, she felt angry. Betrayed. Those memories, those feelings…she thought she’d steered her life into a place where she’d never have to feel like that again. Yet, here she was. And she didn’t know who to be mad at. Who to blame.

“I hate this,” she whispered to Holt, and it seemed so natural now to tell him how she felt, although she’d never done that with anyone else before. “The way they look at you. They make me feel like I’ve done something bad even when I know I haven’t.”

“That just means you have a conscience.”

He, at least, seemed unfazed by the fact that they’d been questioned, together and separately, for several hours. Meanwhile, Holt’s Mustang and cell phone had been gone over with all the diligence the LVPD forensics teams could muster, and their identity documents checked and rechecked. Billie had even volunteered a sample of her DNA to corroborate her claim that she was the missing girl’s biological mother. Which, as Holt had pointed out when she’d told him she was going to do it, could also work against her, since it would seem to give her a motive for kidnapping. Now they were together again, in a small, square room without windows, without much of anything in it except for a metal table and several hard chairs, and the single, unwavering eye of a video camera high in one corner.

“Do you think they believe us?”

“I think they’d like to.” He was sitting relaxed in his chair, arms folded on his chest, and his eyes, resting on her, were calm. “Problem is, we’re all they’ve got. And we’re so perfect for it. Biological mom hires private investigator to find child she gave up for adoption, they go to see the kid, and the next day she’s abducted? Doesn’t get any more perfect than that.” He smiled wryly. “Hell, I’m not even sure I believe us.”

Her lips felt numb; she couldn’t make herself smile back. “But…they’ll check at the airport, won’t they? They’ll ask Tony. He’ll tell them he brought us back here last night.”

“Yes,” Holt said gently, “and I’m sure they’ve already done that. Doesn’t mean we-you-couldn’t have hired somebody like Miley to kidnap your daughter.”

She put a hand over her eyes and whispered, “Oh, God.” After a moment she took her hand away and glared up at the video camera. “They’re probably listening to us right now, aren’t they?”

“Probably.”

“They know I have a rap sheet, I guess…” Her stomach felt raw and sore, and there was a sick, sour taste in her mouth. “From when…I was on the street.” Yes…all the miserable, stupid things I did then, to stay alive. Panhandling, shoplifting, trespassing…but at least-She blurted it out. “I want you to know, I never did drugs. And I never turned tricks.”

He sat up suddenly. Felt as if she’d slapped him. “My God-Billie…”

“You believe me, don’t you?” She stared at him with hot, dry eyes.

The air between them was like a solid thing. He wanted to reach through it to touch her, but it seemed impenetrable. He said huskily, “I believe you. But it wouldn’t matter to me if you had. I’d never judge you.”

“Yeah, you would. And it would matter. You might not think so, but it would. You know why I didn’t?” Her gaze didn’t waver, just seemed to grow hotter and brighter-and at the same time more distant. Like stars. “I didn’t because I figured if I was going to do that I might as well go back home. At least there I’d have food and a warm place to sleep.”

What could he say? The effect of the words and that hot, hard gaze was enough to make him feel cold and shaky clear through to his insides. Staring back at her, he kept seeing all those battered young bodies he’d had to look at, in so many morgues, in so many cities, laid out cold and still with clean white sheets covering the evidence of how cruelly life had treated them. So many without names…All he could do was look at her and hope she’d understand his silence.

After the longest ten seconds he’d ever lived through, she sat back and exhaled sharply.

“Why are they still keeping us in here? They’ve asked us everything they possibly could. What are they waiting for?”

He cleared his throat. “Well, I think-” And just then the door opened to admit the Las Vegas detective they’d spent so much time with earlier in the day. Right behind him were the two people Holt wanted most in the whole wide world to see. “I think-” he finished, grinning as he rose to his feet “-for this.”

As he went to greet his visitors, he caught a glimpse of a face gone white as chalk, and he knew then that what scared Billie Farrell-or Brenna Fallon-more than the entire Las Vegas Police Department combined was this moment, and what was about to take place. Meeting this man-Wade Callahan.

My brother.

She had no recollection of having risen to her feet, but she must have. Now she stood with her hands on the tabletop to steady herself and watched them come into the stark little room.

She saw him first-a tall man with broad shoulders and a slightly rumpled look, a face with a rock-solid jaw wearing a hint of beard shadow, close-cropped brown hair and heavily lashed eyes a deep, dark shade of blue. Right now those eyes were frowning and aimed straight at her, even while he was busy shaking Holt’s hand and clapping him on the arm. Then he pushed past everyone else in the room, and tables and chairs, too, and she was swallowed up in the biggest, strongest hug she’d ever known.

Except, unbelievably, that big, strong body was shaking. She could feel the hard edge of his jaw pressed against her head, and her feet didn’t touch the floor as he whispered, “Hey, baby sister. Nice to finally meet you. I’m your brother Wade.”

She didn’t dare speak. Didn’t dare laugh, or even draw breath. She was so fragile, her self-control so tenuous, one word…just one sound…would smash it to pieces.

Then there was a sound, and she didn’t break after all. A soft, almost comical, “Ahem…”

Wade released her with a shaken laugh. “Yeah…all right, I know. Sorry, Tee…” He turned to bring the other person, the woman, forward, although he kept Billie tucked in the curve of his arm. “Hey-I want you to meet my wife. This is Tierney. Tierney…this is my sister Bren-”

“It’s Billie,” Holt said, from somewhere nearby.

The woman was lovely, with tousled blond hair and clear, beautiful blue eyes, so different from her husband’s indigo, and worlds apart from Holt’s hot-cold steel. She had sun-kissed skin, a scattering of freckles and a warm and generous smile. Something about her made Billie think of flowers.

“Hi, Billie,” the blond woman said softly, and held out her hands to take Billie’s. “Friends and family usually call me Tee.” Her hands felt warm…so warm, and Billie realized hers were like ice.

“You read people’s emotions,” she said gruffly. “Holt told me.” She tried to smile. “Guess this must be pretty intense, huh?”

Tierney’s smile blossomed. “Oh, don’t worry-I can block most people’s most of the time.” She gave Billie’s hands a reassuring squeeze. “Think how awful it would be if I didn’t.”

But her eyes held Billie’s for a few moments longer, and…it was the oddest thing. She wasn’t psychic, she was sure of it-at least, she’d never even thought of such a thing before-but suddenly there was a voice inside her head, a voice that wasn’t really a voice at all, more of a feeling, impossible to describe. And in words that weren’t exactly words, but so clear it seemed as if they were words, it was saying, You’re not alone…we love you. No matter what happens, we’re here with you now.

“So,” Holt said, “here’s what we want you to do.”

They were in a small squad room now-Holt and Billie, Wade and Tierney, several members of the Las Vegas Police Department assigned to the kidnapping case, and a couple guys from the FBI. They were scattered among the several desks in the room, some peering at computer screens or talking quietly on telephones.

Holt was sitting on the edge of a desk and Billie was standing in front of him, straight and stiff as a mannequin. He had his hands on her arms, but it wasn’t enough. He wanted her in his arms. Wanted to do whatever he needed to do to get that dazed, scared, brave, stoic, frozen look off her face.

“You just need to buy us some time, okay?”

He waited for her nod and a barely audible, “Yeah, sure.”

“All you need to do is to show up for the tournament, hang in for as long as you can. Give us time to find where he’s holding her.”

Her eyes looked flat and hopeless. “How can you? How can they? He could be…She could be anywhere.”

He lowered his voice to a murmur and tipped his head toward the detectives poring over their computers in the room behind him. “These guys know their stuff, and they haven’t been sitting around on their asses. They have some leads-they’re working on those now.” She just looked at him, clearly unconvinced. He forced a smile. “Plus, you’ve got me. I find people, remember?”

“Kincaid.” One of the LVPD detectives-Holt was pretty sure his name was Vogel-held up an arm and beckoned him over to the desk where he was hunched over an array of electronic equipment along with a tech guy and one of the FBI agents. “I think we’re ready here.”

“Yeah…coming.” Holt slid his backside off the desk but kept one hand on Billie’s shoulder as he guided her over to where the three men were waiting. Her shoulder felt small-boned and defenseless, and he had to remind himself she was anything but.

The techie was a slightly overweight guy with thinning red hair cut short and flat on top. He looked about nineteen. He handed Billie a phone, and Vogel said, “Okay, what I want you to do is call this guy Miley Todd back at the number he called you from. That’s this number right here.” He smoothed a piece of paper on the desk with one hand, and Holt recognized the note he’d scrawled before leaving Billie’s. “We know it’s a cell phone,” Vogel went on, “so we can’t trace it. But what we can do is try and ID the tower the signal’s coming from. Understand? That’ll narrow our search area. So we need you to keep him talking as long as you can. Can you do that?”

She nodded, and Holt saw her throat move. He thought she looked scared to death.

“Tell him you need proof he’s got Hannah,” he said, drawing her eyes to him, putting all the strength and confidence he could muster into the look he gave her. “Tell him you need to know she’s all right. Keep him on the line as long as possible.”

She nodded again. The techie donned a pair of headphones and pointed to her. She took a breath, let it out and punched in the number. A moment later, everyone in the room could hear the brrr of the distant ring.

Once. Twice. Three times. Holt was willing to bet nobody in the room took a breath. Then there was a click, and a voice, high and scared and one he’d heard before, said, “Yeah-who’s this?”

“It’s me-Billie.” Holt couldn’t believe how calm she sounded. Angry, yeah, but definitely not scared.

Miley, on the other hand, was freaking out. Holt wouldn’t have thought his voice could get any higher, but it must be hitting close to high C.

“Billie? What the hell! How’d you get this number?”

“Caller ID, you moron,” Billie replied, and several people in the room had to stifle laughter.

“Hey, you better watch who you’re callin’ names, okay? I’m not kiddin’ around here. You better not be talking to the cops, either, you hear me? Billie? You hear me? No cops!”

“Yeah-” she cleared her throat; her eyes were closed “-yes, all right. Just…calm down, okay? Look, I’m doing what you want, I’ll be in the damn tournament when it starts tomorrow. I just want-” her eyes flicked to Holt’s for one panic-stricken moment, then she caught a quick breath and rushed on “-I need to know she’s okay.”

“I told you, I’m not gonna hurt her. That’s all you need to know.”

“Yeah, but she’s probably scared to death. Let me talk to her, okay? Just let me tell her-”

“Hey, I know what you’re doing.” His voice went up the scale again. “You’re trying to keep me talking so you can trace this call. You better not be tryin’ to trace this call, you hear me? Won’t do you any good anyway, ’cause the kid’s not here.”

Billie’s fingers were gripping the phone so hard her knuckles were white. “Where-”

“Yeah, right, like I’m gonna tell you? Somewhere safe, is all you need to know. Somewhere you won’t find her, neither, not without me. So you just better not be talkin’ to the cops. Because if the cops do find me? If anything bad happens to me, you’re never gonna find her. You hear me, Billie? Nobody’s ever gonna see that little girl again.”