Authors: Julie Momyer
Auggie leaned forward in his seat. “Uh, yeah, yes, can I speak with Spencer Gordon?”
“Mr. Gordon stepped out for a moment. May I take your name and number?”
He reached for the business card he set on the console. No cell or alternate number was listed. “Yes, ma’am. Please have him call Auggie Garcia. Let him know I have some urgent information about a mutual friend.”
Auggie shook his head at how hokey that sounded. It came off as clandestine, like some cheesy line out of a dime-store detective novel. He left his contact information, hoping the man remembered him then headed for the hotel. Jaida still wasn’t answering, and he needed to know that she was right where he’d left her.
*
After leaving the cemetery, Jaida went back to the hotel and waited for Auggie. A half an hour later Ray called. He was ready to talk.
The address he gave her was on State Route 142, the house located somewhere in the canyon. She wrote the directions down and headed out, deciding against returning Auggie’s messages until after she had what she wanted from Ray. She couldn’t risk him trying to stop her.
Ray’s terms were non-negotiable, and this time she would follow them to the letter. No wire, no police, just her and a promise for his protection.
She accelerated up the snaking incline, her tires hugging the centerline. A car shot past her on the other side of the two-lane highway. She slowed, searching for a tan house with the numbers 1902.
Gale believed himself to be invincible, but his days were numbered. She could forget about Ray, walk away and call a truce with Gale, but for Marcus Dennison and Sofia, she had to follow through. It wasn’t just for their sakes. If she didn’t do this, didn’t stop Gale, she would be watching over her shoulder for the rest of her life.
Jaida slowed the car again, skimming the numbers on the houses.
The fear that washed over her was unexpected. She tightened her grip on the wheel and shot a quick glance at her cell phone lying on the passenger seat. She could leave Auggie a message; give him the address where she could be found as a precaution. He didn’t need to know she was meeting with Ray.
She picked up the phone. No signal. She lifted her foot from the gas pedal. She should have let someone know where she would be, but she couldn’t turn back. Not now.
Thirty yards ahead the incline topped off. She started a slight descent and hit the brakes when she saw the house. She’d almost missed it. Two weeping willows blocked most of the tan stucco house. The black resin digits she memorized from the sheet of paper were barely visible, an overgrown hedge concealing the numbers.
She pulled into the gravel drive and shifted the car into park. The apprehension she felt only moments ago returned in full force. She picked up the phone again, but her hope that there might be even a weak signal here in the driveway was immediately doused when she looked at the screen.
From inside the safety of her car she contemplated the yard, the house. The property appeared to be abandoned. She reread the address and looked up at the numbers mounted on the pillar. It was the right place. Ray said he would be waiting for her out front, but there was no sign of life. Had he backed out again?
Jaida turned the key off and waited a few minutes before she opened the door and climbed out. She tucked the keys in her palm. It cost her a small fortune in cab fare to pick her car up. But it was worth it. It was her only way out if this meeting went badly.
She made a quick study of her surroundings. The nearest house was about forty feet away from where she stood. She could see it well enough through the dense landscape. But would the occupants be able to see her or hear her if she found herself in trouble?
Here goes nothing.
Jaida moved toward the porch, toward the front door obscured by shadow, and waded through the knee-deep grass. If he wouldn’t come to her, she would go to him.
She knocked. Behind her, a car whizzed through the canyon. She raised her arm to knock again. With her fisted hand still cocked in the air, she froze. It was odd, the sensation that coursed through her, the limp limbs, the swaying of her body. She stumbled backward. She felt…so…strange.
A delayed pain registered in the back of her skull, and she winced. She jerked back. Darkness fell.
J
aida!” Auggie pounded his fist on the hotel room door until the side of his hand throbbed. Where was she?
He should have known better than to leave her alone, to trust her with the simple task of staying put. Why
hadn’t he brought her back to his place? He could have forfeited his bed and slept in the recliner.
He jogged down the hallway to the front desk. Reaching over the counter, he gripped the arm of the clerk before he could reach for the ringing phone. “The woman in room 125, did she check out?”
The man looked down at his arm where Auggie had latched onto it. He released him, and the clerk straightened. “I’m not allowed to give out that information, sir.”
“I checked her in last night, I paid for the room. I think I’m entitled to know if she’s still here.”
He shook his head. “I’m sorry, but I can’t give out that information
.”
Auggie reached in his back pocket, pulled out his wallet and flipped it open, flashing his identification. Not a cop, but close
enough. He worked with the police department enough to be looked upon as an authority.
“She might be in trouble,” he said.
His face blanched. “What kind of trouble?”
“I’m not at liberty to say.”
“What do you want me to do?” he asked.
“For starters you can tell me if she checked out.”
He tapped his fingers on the computer keys. “What was the room number?”
“125.”
A couple more clicks and he said, “It shows the room is still occupied.”
“I need to get inside. She isn’t answering the door.”
The clerk shook his head. “She might be sleeping or in the shower. I can’t just walk in on a guest like that.”
“You won’t be walking in, I will.” He stuffed the wallet back in his pocket.
The clerk stammered then slid the card across the counter. “If anyone asks, I had nothing to do with this.”
Auggie went to the room and let himself inside. Jaida’s bag sat unzipped on the bed she’d slept in, a white tee shirt and pink pajama pants were left in a pile on the pillow. She planned to come back.
He flicked on the bathroom light, looked inside then walked to the window. There was no sign of a struggle. He pushed the curtain back and noticed the diner across the parking lot. Had she gone for breakfast?
Her purse was gone, and she hadn’t left her cell phone behind, why wasn’t she answering? She knew he was coming for her. He moved to the laminate desk and picked up the notepad. No message, nothing.
The light caught the surface of the paper when he tossed the pad back down. He picked it up again and took a closer look, angling it under the desk lamp until he could make out the faint impressions left from the previous page. It appeared to be an address. It could be nothing, but then again it could be everything.
Using the pencil on the desk, he swept the lead over the center of the sheet in light strokes. It was an old grade school trick, but one that worked.
A street address took shape and Auggie examined the writing. He wasn’t certain, but it could be Jaida’s. He copied the data on the bottom of the sheet and tore it off. Rule number one: Leave no stone unturned.
S
pencer hung his suit jacket up, sank into the leather desk chair,
and sifted through the stack of messages.
Joan Garrett
requested to meet with him over Seraph’s new accounts. He tucked the slip of paper behind the rest, grinning when he read the next message. They would have to remove the panic button they installed at the Nixon’s Beverly Hills estate. The owner,
June Nixon, was a feisty ninety-year-old. She was setting off the alarm and then timing how long it took EMS to arrive.
Spencer made a notation at the bottom of the form then set it in the box of outgoing documents. He hoped to have that kind of spunk when he got old.
He read the next name, tried to remember where he’d heard it before, and then sat up straight. “Auggie Garcia,” he mumbled. The name, the face—they came back in a rush. What was this about a mutual friend? The only mutual friend
they had was Jaida.
His heart slid to his stomach. He dialed the number and stood, slipping his arms into the sleeves of his suit jacket. Something was wrong.
*
Jaida lay curled up on her side, drifting in and out of consciousness. Pain pounded at the base of her skull, the internal violence sending the world spinning behind her eyelids.
She stirred, and her nerve endings screamed in agony. She let out a cry, but it was little more than a feeble whimper. A cold sweat broke out over her body. She was going to be sick.
Lie still. Don’t move. Don’t open your eyes.
She drew in a long, slow breath. The air in the room was tainted with the musty scent of animals and stale urine. Where was she? She sensed movement. An animal? A person?
“Help.” The plea croaked from her dry throat, and someone laughed. A man. Jaida cracked her eyes open. Pain crashed through her head, and she turned her face away from the light.
She was on the floor, but whose floor? And then she remembered. She was at the house in Carbon Canyon. She was supposed to meet Ray here.
He hovered over her. She could sense movement, feel the heat from his body. The scent of his woodsy cologne was familiar, triggering memories she couldn’t quite grasp.
She opened her eyes again and tried to make out the face, but her vision was still too hazy.
She threw out a name. “Auggie?” Is that who it was? No, it couldn’t be.
“Not as tough as I thought you were.” She knew the voice. Knew it well. She squinted then blinked, willing her eyes to clear. Why couldn’t she figure it out?
The man circled her. He lifted his foot and ground his heel into her raised shoulder, pressing it to the floor. She cried out for him to stop.
His foot slid from her shoulder and he stepped back. “You’ve been out for over an hour.”
“Where is Ray?” she asked. What had they done with him?
He laughed and the sound hurt her head. “Your blonde is showing. Haven’t you figured it out yet? I am Ray.”
Her forehead bunched, her eyes strained, but her mind could not make the connection. This was not Ray. This was someone she knew, someone she had done more than converse with on the phone, but she just couldn’t put the voice to a face.
She stared hard until the shadowy details of his features took on a shape she recognized as human, but the similarities ended there. The voice, the laugh, and now the face all came together, but the cruelty was incongruous with the eyes staring down at her. Was she delirious?
He squatted down beside her and spoke gently this time. “I need that money, Jaida.” His fingers trailed the side of her face as if he held some affection for her, then he stood.
She closed her eyes again, listening to his footsteps, the creak of the floor as he moved away from her. When she opened them he was peering through the slats in the blinds. He straightened and pulled the cord, sealing up the gaps. What was he watching for? Was he expecting someone else?
He turned and gazed down at her. “I’ve tried to be nice, to handle this in a gentlemanly way, but I’m running out of time.”
As if he were exercising the ordinary task of checking the tires on a car, he bent down and tested the duct tape banded in snug loops around her wrists then moved to her ankles.
He leaned over her with his palms pressed to his thighs, his green button-down shirt open at the collar. “For what it’s worth, I did love you.”
Tears streamed down her cheeks, and he brushed them away with his thumb. This wasn’t love. Did he think she was crying over him?
“I have an errand to run,” he said, “but don’t you worry. I’ll be back.”
She raised her head and watched him walk out the door. Was he just going to leave her here? She closed her eyes and rolled to her back, wincing at the pain. It was lessening and her vision had improved, but what did it matter?
She’d seen his face. She could identify him; testify against him. And just like he said, he would be back. And when he got what he wanted, he would kill her.
“God is my refuge, a very present help in times of trouble.”
She meditated on the verse she’d learned as a child, preparing herself for the worst.
*