Innocent Prey. Maggie Shayne
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shifted his gaze to me only for a second, then it went right back to Mason. “What about her?” he asked, ignoring my question completely.
It pissed me off a little, frankly.
“When’s the last time you heard from her?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know. A couple of years ago. Something like that.” Then he popped the top on his beer can and took a slug.
I felt the lie, but that was cheating. I already knew the truth.
“Her cell phone says different,” Mason told him.
I walked a few steps away, to the window that looked down onto Washington Avenue, parted the curtain like I was looking out and closed my eyes.
“If you think you already know, then why waste time asking me?”
“Because I want to hear it from you,” Mason told him.
“She’s been calling,” he said after a brief pause. “I haven’t been answering. I haven’t called back. I haven’t talked to her in a couple of years. Just like I said.”
And that was the truth. But he was nervous as hell. I could feel it radiating from him. I said, “It’s kind of important, Jake. She’s missing.” Just so I could feel his reaction to that.
And I did. I felt a pulse of something big. Shock? Surprise? Concern? Or was it fear that we were on to him?
“What do you mean, missing?”
I stayed right where I was. Mason would read his face, his body language. I was reading his emotions. And they were all over the place.
“Missing. As in, no one knows where the hell she is,” Mason said. “Unless you know. Do you?”
“She’s missing?”
“Her father thinks she’s probably run off.”
“She’s blind. Where the hell is she gonna run off to?”
“How do you know she’s blind, Jake?” Mason asked. “Her family kept it pretty quiet.”
He walked a few steps, set his beer down. I heard all that. “We still have a few friends in common. I heard about it.”
He still cares about her, I thought. I could feel it beneath the words.
“I don’t know where she is. I wasn’t lying. I haven’t talked to her in a couple of years. And I didn’t know she was missing.” I had the feeling he was telling the truth, and then he got all tense again. “You’re here because you think I had something to do with...with whatever happened to her, aren’t you?”
“We’re not sure anything’s happened to her,” Mason told him. “I saw your name on her outgoing calls and thought I oughta talk to you, since her father said you two ran off together a few years back. It’s that simple.”
I turned from the window, ’cause my senses had given me a big clue. “You don’t like him much, do you?”
“Who?” Jake knew exactly who I meant. He picked up his beer, turning his back to me as he did.
“Stevie’s father. Judge Howie.”
He just shrugged. “I don’t have any contact with the man.”
“But you did. Two years ago when you and Stevie ran off together. Right? I’m sure he threw a fit about that.”
“Threw a fit?” He frowned and turned to look at me. I totally got that he was searching for something in my face. Then he quickly schooled his expression into a mask. “I don’t have anything to do with him. And I don’t know where Stevie is. I hope she’s okay. And I really have to get ready for work now.”
I couldn’t tell if that was sincere or not. The man had closed up tight, was keeping everything inside and showing us the door. Literally. He went to the door and opened it.
Mason sighed, and I knew he was disappointed. “Call me if you hear from her, okay?” He handed the guy a card.
Jake took it from him but didn’t even look at it. “Sure.”
I didn’t believe him.
I waited until we were back on the sidewalk in the bright afternoon sunshine to say, “Something happened between him and Judge Howie. Something big enough that he thought we already knew about it. You need to find out what it was.”
Mason nodded. “I think the guy has a record.”
“Really? I didn’t get that at all. How did you—”
“You get a feel for it after a while. People who’ve done time almost carry the scent of it. I’ll run him through the system, see what pops up. Should’ve done that first, but I figured the judge would’ve told me if there was anything.” He looked at me. “What else did you get?”
“I think he still cares about her. And he was either surprised to hear she was missing or surprised that we were there asking him about it.” We got to the car, Mason’s big black beast. I opened the passenger-side door and had to heft my bulldog out of the way to make room on the seat. Her loud snoring broke into aggravated bursts and she opened one eye, but other than that, she didn’t break nap. “When do we get to talk to the other boyfriend? The current one? What’s his name again? James Tiberius?”
Mason got behind the wheel and started her up. “Mitchell Kirk,” he corrected, deadpan. My Star Trek reference went right over his head. He wasn’t a Trekkie like me. “Tomorrow night at the chief’s anniversary party.”
“He knows the chief?”
“He’s his nephew.”
“Oh. I did not know that. The plot thickens.” I relaxed in my seat and watched the city pass by as he headed for the highway. Ten minutes and we were back on 17, heading for 81.
“So what now?” I asked after riding in silence for a little bit longer.
“I take you home and head back to HQ to tell Chief Sub what we’ve found so far. See if he’s ready to make this thing official yet.”
A big sigh rushed out of me before I could prevent it, catching me by surprise. He shot me a look. “What?”
“I don’t know.” I frowned. “I think that was me being disappointed that our day hanging out together is over. Weird, huh?”
Mason’s grin made his dimple flash at me. It was a more potent weapon than his stupid handgun. “I enjoyed it, too. It’s like old times, huh?”
“Old times meaning the last time a serial killer was after us? Pretty sad when I’m missing those sorts of good ol’ days.”
“Are you?” he asked.
I shrugged, because I didn’t want to get too deep or stupid. “I think if I wrote a book about you, the title would be Meets, Screws and Leaves.”
“Is that literary humor or a serious complaint?” he asked.
I rolled my eyes. “Never mind.”
He eased into the left lane, then pressed the pedal down. He had a big, loud motor in the Beast, and even I got a little thrill when he made it roar. The nose end of the thing literally rose a little as the powerful engine kicked up a notch. I had discovered that the sighted Rachel was a little bit of a motor-head. I drove a convertible T-Bird that was a modern homage to the classic 1955 model, and I loved it. I had to admit, the ’74 Monte Carlo was growing on me, too.
A little.
As he merged onto 81, he said, “Jeremy has a home game tonight. You should come.”
I looked at him fast. “I wasn’t hinting around for an invitation.”
“Shit, Rachel, you don’t hint around for anything.”
“It’s