Point of Disappearance, page 13
The red lights in front of her had a hypnotizing effect until they swerved to the side. She slammed on her brakes, and her back wheels fishtailed on the wet road. What the hell was Tate doing?
She cranked up her wipers and squinted through the windshield. Tate had not only stopped his Jeep, but he’d also jumped out of it and had crossed the road into the forest. Had he been hearing whistling again?
She rolled up behind him, her head turned to the side, trying to pick him out across the road. Her palms got damp and her throat dry. She didn’t see Tate, but she saw a light, like a flashlight bobbing in the darkness. Was it Tate’s? Or did it belong to someone else?
She threw her car into Park and scrambled out the door, catching herself before falling to the road. For the second time that day, she rushed into the forest to find Tate. This time she heard the voices clearly—two men—and she followed the sound through the trees.
A light appeared ahead, and she ran toward it. Her eyes adjusted in time to see Tate take a flying leap at another man and tackle him to the ground.
Chapter Thirteen
Adrenaline pumped through Tate’s system as he straddled the man beneath him, his fist drawn back. “What did you do with them? Where’s Noah? Answer me.”
The man sputtered, his mouth gaping open like a fish on a hook. “Wh-what are you doing? Tate? Tate Mitchell, is that you?”
Tate blinked. The flashlight that had been in the man’s hand and now lay on the ground illuminated the area above his head, highlighting curly strands of red hair escaping from a black cap.
Tate ground his teeth together as he drove his knee harder in Porter Monroe’s thigh. No wonder he’d been interested enough in the case to show up on the search and approach Blanca. Tate growled. “What did you do with him?”
“With who?” Porter coughed. “Are you talking about the missing kid? I don’t know anything about that.”
Tate’s heartbeat had slowed down to a steady thump in his chest, and then he heard Blanca’s voice.
“Tate, what are you doing? Who is that?”
“Porter Monroe. You were right.”
Porter gasped. “Right about what? What is this? Let me up so we can discuss this like civilized adults. I don’t have any weapons.”
“I do.” Tate patted down Porter’s pockets and waistband. He rolled off him and reached for his gun. He held it on the crumpled form on the ground.
“Can I stand up?” Porter raised his hands. “Don’t shoot me. I don’t have anything. I haven’t done anything.”
“You were whistling.” Tate ground out the words between his teeth.
“Whoa.” Porter staggered to his feet, shooting a glance at Blanca. “Is whistling a crime now?”
Blanca moved to Tate’s side, her breath creating puffs of steam in the cold air. “What were you whistling, Porter?”
Porter had gotten to his feet and now jerked his head between Tate and Blanca. “What? What was I whistling? Nothing. I was whistling for my dog, who I’m sure is now even farther in the woods than when I started looking for him.”
Tate swallowed. His anxiety receded, making him feel light-headed. “Your dog?”
“What are you and your dog doing out here?” Blanca crossed her arms, bumping her shoulder against Tate’s bicep. She had his back.
Pointing at a backpack on the ground, Porter said, “I came back to look for that. It’s Zach Snider’s backpack. He left it here after a hike. You can ask his parents. They called me to tell me he’d lost his pack, and I told them I’d go back to find it. I brought my dog, Frosty, and he ran off—probably after some critter. I thought he was coming back, too, until you tackled me, Tate. What the hell is going on?”
“Why were you hiking out here with kids?” Tate let his weapon hang at his side, as he took a step to the side and swept up the flashlight from the ground.
Porter narrowed his eyes against the light. “Oh, is that what this is about? A man can’t enjoy the company of kids without being a perv? I went through this when Jeremy disappeared, too. Remember that? Of course you do.”
“I—we’re just trying to figure out what’s going on out here.” Tate shoved his gun into his pocket. Porter had been whistling for a dog. Had Tate even heard the tune? Had he heard it earlier? Was he losing his mind?
“Look, Porter—” Blanca put her hands out, palms first “—there was some...activity in this area earlier today. You can’t blame Tate for suspecting your odd behavior.”
“Whistling is odd behavior?” He doffed the cap from his head and used it wipe the sweat from his face. “You can check Zach’s backpack, you can call his parents, you can even check on my alibi with Hopkins the day Noah Fielding disappeared—and yeah, he asked me.”
“If you don’t mind.” Blanca walked to the backpack and picked it up. She gestured for Tate to shine the light inside, as she unzipped it.
She examined the typical contents for a kid’s backpack. Of course, Porter could’ve just kidnapped Zach Snider, and then she’d feel foolish. She held out her hand. “Can I see your phone?”
“I should just tell you both to get out of my face, but I’ll play along because that’s what I always do.”
Blanca snapped her fingers. “Enough with the pity party, Monroe. I’m an FBI agent investigating a cold case and current kidnapping. You can’t tell me to get out of your face.”
He dug his phone from his pocket, unlocked it with his thumbprint and handed it to Blanca.
The blue light of the display illuminated her face as she scrolled through Porter’s contacts. She tapped the phone and waited a few seconds.
She said, “This isn’t Porter, Mrs. Snider. This is FBI Special Agent Blanca Lopez, and I just have a few questions for you. Was Zach on a hike today with Porter?”
Her gaze darted between Tate and Porter as she said, “Uh-huh...uh-huh. I see... No, everything’s fine, and Porter did find the backpack.”
She ended the call after a few more pleasantries and held it out to Porter. “Thanks. That clears it right up.”
Rolling his eyes, he pocketed his phone. “Is it okay if I keep looking for my dog now?”
“Go right ahead.” Blanca waved her hand.
Porter shouted. “Frosty! Frosty!”
He turned to Tate. “I’m gonna whistle now. Is that okay with you, or is that gonna trigger you again?”
“Damn, Porter.” Tate wiped a hand across his face. “Go ahead.”
Porter let loose with a piercing whistle, which sounded nothing like the “Hokey Pokey” song. Several seconds later a dog barked. Then a white streak materialized, and a snowy white shepherd bounded up to Porter.
Porter pointed to Frosty. “Dog. Can I go now?”
Tate took a deep breath. “Sorry, Porter. It was just—”
“You don’t have to explain, Tate. Even though you always try to pretend otherwise, I know you were traumatized by what happened to you. I feel sorry for you, and I feel sorrier for Jeremy.”
When Porter stomped off, Frosty trotting at his heels, Tate covered his face with both hands. “God, that was embarrassing.”
Blanca rubbed his back. “You don’t have to feel embarrassed. Anyone in these woods is suspect at this point, especially if you heard another whistle.”
He spread his fingers and peered at her through the spaces. “He was whistling for his dog, Blanca.”
“You couldn’t know that at the time. Honestly, when I saw that kid’s backpack, something pricked the back of my neck.” She hunched her shoulders. “The story he told could be true and he could be involved in Noah’s disappearance. One doesn’t necessarily rule out the other.”
“You heard him. He has an alibi for the day Noah disappeared.”
“So he said.”
Tate widened his eyes. “You don’t believe him after all that?”
“Let’s just say I’m going to check his alibi with Hopkins and look into him a little more closely.” She tugged on his jacket. “You’re not losing it.”
“It sure felt like it.”
“Why did you stop your car and get out like that? You didn’t hear the whistling from the road.”
“I saw his light bobbing in the forest. I had to check it out. Then when I heard the whistle and saw a figure in the dark, all bets were off.”
“Just get me out of here. It’s giving me the creeps.” Her hand slid to his hand, and she laced her fingers with his. “You’re not losing it, Tate.”
He led the way but kept hold of her hand, which seemed to anchor him in more ways than one. “Porter said everyone knew I was traumatized. That guts me.”
“He didn’t exactly say that.” She squeezed his hand. “He said he realized you were—probably because he was part of the scene, maybe because he works with young people. Who knows? Maybe that’s why he still works with boys—not because he’s a perv but because he wants to help.”
“But you’re still going to check his alibi.”
“Better to be safe than sorry.” She looked down at the phone in her hand. “Do you want to get some dinner in town after I drop Isaiah’s sample at the station?”
“Sure.” He opened her car door for her. “I thought you didn’t want to be seen with me.”
“I guess it’s a little late for that now, especially if the FBI is going to send in more agents. We might not have another chance.”
“Then, let’s do it. You go to the station, and I’ll head to the main drag and grab us a table somewhere and send you the address. Preference?”
She dropped to the seat behind the wheel. “I think it’s apparent by now that I’ll eat anything.”
He felt a little stab in his heart. That married jerk had really done a number on her. He bent forward and placed a kiss on her full lips. “I think it’s apparent by now that you’re a bold woman who knows what she likes.”
* * *
AS THE CAR door slammed and Tate strode to his Jeep, Blanca put two fingers on her throbbing lips. That was maybe the best first kiss she’d ever had. It hadn’t just warmed all her erogenous zones, it had also warmed her heart.
Maybe the event in the woods with Jeremy had traumatized Tate, but it had also taught him kindness and compassion. But he’d probably give up all those fine qualities to be just another guy without that experience in the woods.
She followed Tate over the bridge, and the spray from the falls sprinkled her windshield. A few miles later he stopped at a stop sign and stuck his arm out the window to indicate that she should go right to the station. She waved out her window and took the right, as he turned left to head onto the main drag of the town.
A few miles later on the slick road, she parked in front of the station and pushed through the front door. The desk sergeant was on duty, and the squad cars were in the field, which left the station mostly empty.
She greeted the deputy. “Did I miss anything on the Fielding case while I was out?”
“Nothing. Those poor parents and the little sister. Their vacation is supposed to be over in a few days. How do you go home without your boy?”
“I imagine you don’t.” She patted her bag. “I did get DNA from Isaiah Whitecotton, though. The more of these cases we can tie together, the more that’s going to help the Fieldings.”
“I hope you’re right about those bones belonging to Gabe. You stirred up a ruckus here with your announcement. If you’re wrong, you’re going to have some egg on your face.”
“I’m not wrong.” She bumped the swinging door to the back with her hip. “Tell me something, George. Do you have any satanic cults on the island?”
His pale eyebrows shot up. “You mean like human sacrifice and boiling goats?”
“Human sacrifice?” She ran her hand through her hair. “Doesn’t have to be that serious. Maybe just some goth kids or stone circles in the woods. Stuff like that.”
“Yeah, there are a few kids like that. Dress all in black. The girls look like they have raccoon eyes.”
“Yes, exactly like that. Do you know who the kids are?” She grabbed an overnight bubble pouch to send her sample to the FBI lab.
“Unfortunately, my girlfriend’s daughter is one of them.” He sat back in his chair and wedged one foot on the desk. “She’s not a bad kid, just weird. You don’t think they had anything to do with Noah, do you? They weren’t even alive for Jeremy’s disappearance and were little kids for Gabe’s, if that’s where you’re going with this.”
“No, I don’t think kids are responsible, but I’d sure like to talk to your girlfriend’s daughter about a few things. Just curiosity. She’s not in any trouble.” She put her hands together. “Please, George. You guys aren’t gonna like it when several arrogant FBI agents descend on Dead Falls and start pushing you around.”
“I can ask Felicity. That’s my girlfriend. If it’s okay with her, I’ll ask Myra, her daughter. I’m sure Myra would love to tell you all about her Wiccan stuff, or whatever she calls it.”
“I really appreciate it, George.” She slipped him a piece of paper with her cell phone number. “Give me a call when you get the okay.”
Blanca addressed the package to the lab and sent Gwen a message that it would be incoming in the overnight pouch. She waved to George on her way out and checked her phone in the station’s small lobby. Tate had sent her a pin to a restaurant called the Bay Grill, and she tapped her display for directions.
Would this be her last dinner with Tate? The clock ticked in her ear. Even if she’d nailed it on all these missing boys being connected, especially if she’d been right, the FBI would be sending in a team. She couldn’t remain the lone agent on this thing. She only hoped she’d get the credit due for blowing it wide-open.
She had a ten-minute drive ahead of her to decide how she wanted to handle her feelings for Tate—because she definitely had feelings. She peered out the glass door. The sprinkles that had started when she’d followed Tate into the woods had turned into a downpour.
George called to her. “You need to borrow an umbrella? We have extras in the back.”
“I’m just running to my car. I’ll be okay.”
The short jog to her car soaked her hair, causing her curls to spiral out of control. She cranked up the heater and shook out her hair.
The wipers could barely keep up with the water sluicing across the windshield, but she knew the way from the station to the heart of the town. She sat forward in her seat and squinted at the road in front of her. She kept her eyes on the white divider line, inching close to it to avoid the soft shoulder on her right.
She’d forgotten how curvy this road was, which she could navigate with no problem in the daytime with dry conditions. As she approached the next turn, she took her foot off the accelerator. The sedan sped up anyway down the grade, so she pumped the brakes.
The brakes squished beneath the pedal. They must be wet. She tapped the brake pedal again, and the car didn’t respond at all. The next curve came up quicker than she had time to slow down, but she couldn’t seem to control her steering wheel, which seemed to have a life of its own.
She knew enough not to stomp on the brake, so she eased her foot against the pedal. She felt for some engagement, a flare of panic leaping in her chest when she felt nothing but air. She pressed her foot to the floor, and the car lurched into the next curve, speeding up.
She tried to jerk the steering wheel to the left and felt her mistake immediately as her back wheels fishtailed and then hydroplaned. The car now out of her control, she could only hang onto the useless steering wheel as the car lifted off the road. As if in slow motion, the sedan landed with a bounce.
The last thing Blanca saw before squeezing her eyes closed to brace for impact was the shore of the bay rushing toward her.
Chapter Fourteen
Tate checked the time on his phone for the fourth time. Blanca should’ve been here by now. Should take about ten minutes from the station, fifteen for a tourist.
Rivulets of water streamed down the window of the restaurant, and Tate traced one with his fingertip. Okay, maybe twenty minutes given this weather.
He toyed with his phone. Should he call her? He shouldn’t distract her when she was driving, especially in a downpour. He called the station instead.
The desk sergeant answered promptly. “Dead Falls Sheriff’s Department, Deputy Vickers. Can I help you?”
“This is Tate Mitchell. I’m looking for Agent Lopez. She was supposed to drop off something there and meet me in town. Have you seen her?”
“Tate, this is George Vickers. She was here but left about twenty minutes ago. You try calling her?”
“Hey, George. Didn’t want to disturb her driving. Just wanted to make sure she left already.”
“She did.” George coughed. “She probably made a detour to her hotel, maybe to change clothes. I offered her an umbrella, but she went out to her car without one. She probably got soaked.”
“You’re probably right. I’ll give her a call.” Tate ended the call and drummed his fingers on the table. Blanca was an FBI agent. She wouldn’t answer the phone if it weren’t safe to do so.
“Did you want to order anything to drink besides water?” The waitress stood at the table, her tablet tucked under her arm.
“Not yet.” Tate tapped Blanca’s name from his contacts. The phone rang until it went to voice mail. Tate didn’t bother leaving a message.
He left a couple of bucks on the table for occupying it for twenty minutes and ducked outside into the rain. He flipped up his hood and jogged to his car, a ball of dread forming in his gut. If he’d known the skies were going to open, he would’ve driven her to and from. Tourists got into accidents all the time on the island, and the road between here and the station posed problems even for the locals.
