CHAPTER TWO
1836 Words
CHAPTER TWO
One Week Later
“So, I want to hear everything about this case,” Mia’s older sister Francine said, leaning forward as they sipped their margaritas under the umbrella the following weekend. It was perfect weather for a barbecue, and because it was near to everyone, Mia’s suburban University Park home always seemed to be the place for her family get-togethers. “Did they really let Andrews go, even after everything they found?”
Mia nodded, still feeling bitter about the whole thing. But she’d been on the force long enough to know that was sometimes how the cookie crumbled. “He’s out on bail. But Pembroke thinks he’ll get off.”
Their mother groaned and primly sipped her margarita. “Oh, girls, do we have to talk business all the time?”
Francine was front-desk at the DFW Police, and though she heard her share of crime stories, this one was for the record books. She ignored their mother and whispered, “How is that even possible? Details!”
“They’ll find some loophole, somewhere. You know how connected he is,” she said with a sigh. “They decided there was no evidence to hold him there. But it’s mostly because he has everyone in his back pocket, from the Chief of police to every judge on the circuit.”
“But you basically caught him with his hand in the cookie jar.”
Mia nodded. “But the house really did belong to him, as do five others on that block. He fixes them up and rents them out. His story checked out, and Chloe couldn’t make a positive identification.”
“And no Sara Waverly?”
“Nope.” Mia stared deeply into the slush of her margarita. “He lawyered up right away, and he knows better than to talk. But it might be good. Considering Sara’s still missing. There’s a chance he could slip up and lead us to her, if she’s still alive.”
“Do you really believe that she’s alive?”
“I don’t know.” She had to admit, it was doubtful. They’d found blood at the last place she was seen, and if she wasn’t with Chloe? Mia had put together the likely story in her mind: Hoping to quell his obsession with the young girl, Andrews had kidn*pped and killed Sara. After disposing of her body, he found his hunger had only grown. Thus, Chloe.
Of course, without a body, there was still hope.
And Chloe had been found. That was a good thing.
“Has the other girl said anything else about what happened?”
“Chloe hasn’t really spoken. She’s experienced so much trauma.” Mia glanced across their backyard, to where her eight-year-old daughter Kelsey was at the half-court in the back of their house, showing her grandfather how good she was getting in basketball by throwing layup after perfect layup. The last thing she wanted was for her inquisitive eight-year-old to be asking questions about the Sara and Chloe case.
For most parents, it was enough to shield their children from the news . . . but Mia had to shield her daughter from life. She was extra protective of her daughter, not just because of this latest k********g case, but even before then. Once, she’d noticed someone watching Kelsey at the bus stop. He’d sped away before she could approach him, but she’d always wondered . . .
A fleeting thought of Ellis Horvath touched her mind, but she shut it out.
Mia had enemies. And the last thing she wanted to do was to bring them home to her family.
“Who hasn’t?” Francine mumbled, slurping down her drink.
Mia glanced over at their mother and then gave her sister a warning look. “She did say that her kidnapper wore a mask, so she couldn’t identify him. Maybe if she remembers something in the future, that will change things. So I don’t know if there’s much to tell yet.”
That was a lie. There was plenty to tell. The girls had been missing six months. The police had all but given up on the case a month ago, which was when Mia had come in. But in that time, the poor sixteen-year-old Chloe had been abused, beaten to a shadow of her old self. She’d likely always be haunted by the horrific events she’d been through, and who could blame her? She’d never again be that All-American, honor roll girl who had everything going for her. And who knew if she’d ever see her best friend again?
Mia hadn’t been there for Andrews’s interrogation—it had happened a couple of days ago—but in it, he’d refused to say anything but that he wanted to consult his lawyer, who’d promptly worked his magic and gotten him released.
But Mia could fill in the blanks. Andrews had made a pass at Sara Waverly while driving her to school, and she’d rebuffed him. He’d found the one thing in life he couldn’t have. In a moment of madness, he’d decided to keep her as his own.
And then, typical of men like him, drunk on power, he’d decided that one wasn’t enough. So he’d taken poor Chloe.
So where was Sara Waverly?
But this was not the time to discuss it. As much as Mia’s family marinated in crime from day-to-day, child kidnappings were one thing they didn’t discuss.
All because of Sam Jr.
It had happened over twenty years ago, but the wounds had never fully gone away. Mia only had to look at the three photographs on her parents’ mantle at the home she’d grown up in—two of them, of Francie and herself, in their college caps and gowns. One of Sam, in the very center, with his lopsided bowl-shaped haircut and missing front-teeth, forever in kindergarten.
As strong as her parents were, they’d been helpless to do anything about that. And grief never took a vacation. Sometimes, it sneaked up on a person, at the most unexpected of times.
Mia cleared her throat and glanced at their mother, who was absently nursing her margarita.
“Right,” Francine said, finally getting the hint and giving their mom a little hug. Then she swiped her white-blonde hair into a messy ponytail on the top of her head. “So, you’re off for the weekend?”
She nodded. “Amazing, huh? It’s rare we get to be all together.”
Her mother tutted. “Poor Kelsey was telling me she can’t remember the last time you picked her up from school.”
Mia sighed. It was true. She’d been so busy—obsessed was probably more like it—with the Waverly case. And it felt like just a week ago that Kelsey was still in diapers. Now, she was growing so fast, all spindly, long legs. In no time, she’d be taller than Mia. “Well, I’m going to. Things have just been a bit busy . . .”
Wearing his Grillmaster apron, her husband Aidan came over with the first selection of burgers and dogs—perfectly grilled, of course. It was a good thing he worked from home, in IT, because he was always around whenever her crazy schedule took her away from the house. Not to mention, he was a great cook. She had no idea what she’d have done without him.
As if sensing how much the comment stung her, he leaned over and kissed the top of her head. She smiled up gratefully at him. They’d talked about having more kids, but Kelsey was a handful, on her own.
Mia scooped up the most perfect hot dog—Kelsey would complain if it was too burned—and placed it on a paper plate, slathering on ketchup. “Time to eat!” she called to them, putting a pickle on the side.
As she set it down at Kelsey’s place and went to grab her own burger, her phone began to ring.
Aidan rolled his eyes. “There goes the weekend!”
It wasn’t unusual for Mia to get calls at all hours of the day. And she never felt comfortable silencing her phone because what if it was important? But as she glanced at her phone, expecting to see PEMBROKE on the display, she frowned. It said Unknown Number.
Strange. The area code was 214. Dallas.
She snapped her fingers. “I know what this is. I bet Kelsey’s new glasses are in.”
“Really?” Kelsey clapped her hands. She’d been on pins and needles for her new prescription to come in. She’d ordered a pair of clear-framed Coach glasses, the most expensive and trendiest ones in the place. When Mia had been a kid, she had no clue what Coach even was. But she’d given in, because she’d already been the Bad Mom, turning her daughter down for contacts.
She answered, expecting to hear the pleasant voice informing her that her order was ready for pick-up.
“Agent North? Agent Mia North?” the voice sounded soft, faraway, tremulous.
Mia’s spine straightened. The voice was eerily like Chloe’s that night when she’d finally spoken. All she’d said was, I want to go home, but it was so heart-wrenching and childlike; it was a sound Mia knew she’d never forget.
So was this . . .
“Yes? Who is this?”
At the warning tone in Mia’s voice, everyone around the table turned and looked at her. She stood up and walked into the house, certain something was wrong. She waited for an answer, but all she heard was more, desperate crying.
Mia gasped out, “Sara?”
“Ye-es,” the female voice said, sobbing, hysterical. “Please. I need you here. I need your help.”
“All right. Where?”
“Fifty-nine Weston.”
Heart thumping, she ran inside, looking around for her car keys, when the full weight of the woman’s words hit her. “Fifty-nine Weston?”
It was an address she knew well, all because of one person. Ellis Horvath. This was his neighborhood.
A tendril of fear gripped her as the person on the other end said, “Yes! Please! He says to come alone! He’s going to kill me!”
Locating her purse, grabbing her keys and unlocking the g*n cabinet, she said, “Okay. Hold on. I’m coming. I’ll be right there.”
She ended the call, grabbed her Glock, and turned to find her husband, staring at her, concern etched in his features. “I take it you’re going to need that burger to-go?”
She barely registered the question as she gave him a quick kiss and reached for the door to the garage. The adrenaline was now pumping through her veins. “No time. I’ll be back soon,” she said, then added, once she’d closed the door and was out of earshot, “I hope.”
- Writer
