Line of Fire Read online

  “It can wait. Let her know I called.”

  “Wait. There was something that might interest you. She has the kitchen table and her computer full of drawings for her deadline tomorrow, and I was looking through them as I always do—she’s so amazing. But I found one that doesn’t seem to belong.”

  “What is it?” I asked, pressing the phone harder to my ear.

  “It’s a group of children, all girls, I think. The strange thing is they’re in a dark room with no furniture. Just carpet, and they’re sleeping on the floor. Only a few have blankets. Does that tie in with anything you’re working on?”

  I didn’t see how. “Not really, but she has a client who sells carpets.”

  “Well, this won’t sell anything. It’s gloomy.”

  “Is there anything that places the drawing in a location? Or do any of the faces look recognizable?”

  “No, it’s all very vague. Dark. Walls are plain. Window has something over it. She did it all in shades of gray. Just a quick sketch. That’s why it’s so odd.”

  “Well, it’s probably nothing, but I’ll keep it in mind.” I thanked Bret and hung up the phone, wondering. Had Jenny connected with a child predator who had taken more than one child?

  I voiced the idea to Shannon, but he shook his head. “It’s unlikely. We haven’t had any more reports of missing children in Oregon, or none that I’m aware of, so simultaneous victims would have to mean a larger scope. An organization, maybe. Multiple perps.”

  That was a relief, at least.

  We reached the outskirts of Portland within thirty minutes, cutting significant time off the usual fifty minutes it took from Salem. Shannon flipped off the police lights and pushed Tracy’s number on his phone. “Well,” he asked, “what do you have?” He listened for several long seconds. “Okay. Thanks.”

  To me, he said, “She’s sending an address to my phone. She’s been talking to Gail Vandyke and the feds. Guess what? Gail’s old apartment is near yours. Better yet, Smokey’s is on the way. Why don’t you call in an order? I know you have them on speed dial.”

  Smokey’s was across from my antiques shop and Jake’s herb store that used to belong to Winter and Summer and then me before I sold it to Jake. Thera Brinker, one of the employees we shared, would be closing up my store now. Fridays were my slowest days. Both she and Randa, Jake’s sister, would be working full time tomorrow on my busiest day. Tawnia had promised to help before her baby became sick, but she’d probably have to stay home and work on her deadline now.

  “I think I’ll have the beef pot pie, two rolls, and a smoothie,” I told Shannon. “You?”

  “Pot pie sounds good. But I’d better have a sandwich instead so I can drive. Barbecue chicken. A smoothie, too.”

  “Mmm, sounds good. I’ll get my pie and a sandwich. For the road.”

  His upper lip quirked into a smile. “I thought it was all for the road.”

  “It is.” It would cost more than I really could afford, but I needed to keep up my strength to read imprints. I couldn’t skimp on a case this important.

  For a long moment we were quiet. Early darkness had stolen over the city, and I could feel the evening cold beating at the windows. Was Jenny somewhere in this city? Or was she back in Hayesville somewhere?

  Shannon sat in the idling truck while I ran into Smokey’s. I was leaving the takeout counter when I nearly ran into Jake coming into the restaurant. He looked good in snug khakis and the leather jacket that he wore even in the coldest weather when everyone else was reaching for ski parkas or full-length wools. His short dreadlocks were partially hidden by a rather handsome knit hat, and where most people looked peaked during the winter, thanks to his mother’s African-American genes, his brown skin looked healthy and glowing.

  “Hey,” he said, furrowing his brow. “I thought you went to Salem. Or Hayesville or something.”

  “The leads brought us back here. We’re on our way to question a few people.”

  He laughed. “But you were hungry.”

  “Yeah. You know how I am.” I felt immediately guilty for saying it. Because Jake did know. He knew almost everything about me. If it hadn’t been for meeting Shannon, we might be picking out cutlery together—or would if I didn’t already own some.

  “Well, let me know how it goes.”

  “I will. Wait, you dropped your keys.” Without thinking, I bent to grab them.

  As my fingers touched the metal, I was suddenly looking at myself turning from the counter. Pain swelled in my heart until I wondered if I could hold it all in. I loved her so much. Enough to let her go.

  I dropped the keys back on the floor, swallowing hard and trying not to show what I’d experienced. Why hadn’t I put my gloves back on? I’d touched his keys before, and I knew he always imprinted on them.

  “What?” he said.

  “Nothing.”

  “You’re such a bad liar.”

  Tears bit at my eyes. “Jake, I’m sorry.”

  “It’s okay. Really. I’m dealing with it. No worries. We’re cool.”

  No, we weren’t. He was still there for me in every way that I wanted, and I’d be there for him in every way but the one he wanted most. My heart ached. The thing I had worried about most when I’d chosen to pursue a relationship with Shannon was losing my friendship with Jake. Would we ever get past the awkwardness? Would we ever be friends the way we’d been before romance entered the scene?

  I hoped so, because I loved Jake. He’d been there for me when Winter drowned, when I had no one else. He’d gotten me through the dark nights when I hadn’t cared enough to eat, when I’d kept vigil on the banks of the Willamette for a week as rescuers combed the bottom for bodies. If he couldn’t find happiness, I wasn’t sure I could, either. Maybe if he could find love, I wouldn’t feel so guilty trying to find it without him. He had an old girlfriend I knew still cared for him, but he hadn’t contacted her after our breakup. Maybe it was time for me to make that call.

  I hugged Jake, nearly tipping the contents of my takeout bag. “See you tomorrow or Monday.”

  “Call me if you need me, okay?” He grinned, drawing the attention of half the females at the tables around us. “I still have a little bit of investigating left in me.”

  “You hate it.”

  “I just hate you being in danger.”

  “I’m not this time. I promise.” I felt I was telling the truth. It wasn’t likely I’d be shot at again while looking for Jenny’s father. Well, unless we actually found him.

  Jake looked relieved, so I decided not to examine my thoughts too closely.

  I smiled and backed toward the door. My last picture was of him squatting down to pick up his keys.

  Shannon was looking at his GPS when I climbed into the truck with the bag of takeout. “We’ll make it to the first stop in five minutes. We won’t be able to eat much.”

  “Watch me.” I was a pro at fast eating. You learned to do that when you were sole owner and only full-time employee of a store.

  As I took the first bite, my eyes wandered across the street where the lights were already out in Autumn’s Antiques and The Herb Shoppe. I smiled, feeling a vague nostalgia for the time when that was all I’d known—before imprints.

  I managed to eat half the steaming pie before we pulled up at the apartment building two blocks away from my own. These buildings were similar to those on my block—four to six stories high and built decades ago. The location wasn’t as central, however, and the buildings not as well cared for. Even fourteen years ago, the rent would have been less, especially for one-room apartments such as Gail and Cindy had shared.

  “Well, this is where Jenny was born,” Shannon said, tucking the uneaten portion of his sandwich into his cooler with my extra one. “There should be at least one or two who remember the girls.”

  It was late and dinner time but still early enough to catch those who planned to spend Friday night on the town, which was where I might be with Shannon if I hadn’t decided t
o go to Hayesville and connect with dear old dad.

  I sighed and climbed from the truck, my breath making puffs of white in the night air. I buttoned my coat and sent a thankful thought in the direction of my sister for the leather boots. Shannon smiled at my huddled figure and put an arm around me. “Maybe you should move to California.”

  “Maybe I will.”

  Shannon laughed. “No, you won’t.”

  He was right. Oregon was my home, and the only way I’d ever consider moving was if Tawnia and Bret did. They were all the family I had left now.

  I lifted my face and planted a kiss on his lips, one that warmed me better than any California sun. “Don’t be too sure of yourself.”

  “I never am with you.” His smile didn’t falter, but I sensed seriousness behind his words. I remembered he’d once said that he never fully believed anyone. He’d been talking suspects, but I knew it extended to his personal life, and all because of a woman he’d once dated who’d left the force to become a private detective and had been killed. I wasn’t the only one bringing baggage into this relationship.

  “What I mean,” he added, “is that I know with your ability the next surprise is just around the corner.”

  That much was true, for both of us. Maybe a good thing. Maybe not.

  We plunged forward in the crunchy snow that was hardening further as night and colder temperatures settled in. Shannon’s badge easily got us into the building, but no one we questioned seemed to know anything.

  Finally, we reached the fifth floor and found a crumpled, ancient lady with white hair so thin we could see her pale scalp.

  “I remember the girls,” she said in a frail voice. “And the baby. A girl in pink. Lived right there, across the hall from me.”

  “Were they from around here? Did you know their families or relatives?”

  She shook her head. “I didn’t even know which was the mother, the short, scrawny one or the other one. Both were blonde, you see, and the smaller one wore big clothes. All she had, poor thing. The bigger one always carried the baby. Five floors up and the elevator broken most of the time.”

  “Do you remember a man?” Shannon asked.

  “There was a man staying at one time with the thin one, but I never really saw him. I only heard about it. He kept really late hours.”

  “Could you identify him to a sketch artist?” Shannon asked.

  She frowned. “No. I couldn’t even say what race he was.”

  “The baby was born in their apartment,” I said. “Do you remember a midwife coming?”

  She straightened, lifting her chin slightly—probably as much as she was capable of lifting it. “I don’t recall any midwife. I never had occasion to use one. We always went to a doctor.”

  Shannon nodded. “But you know about the baby being born here?”

  “No. That was at the time my daughter was having her own baby. I spent a few weeks in Washington with her.”

  “Does anyone else from that time still live in the building?” I asked.

  “Only old Jim downstairs, but he has Alzheimer’s and doesn’t even know who I am these days.”

  Just our luck.

  “I already told this to the FBI about an hour ago,” the lady said, a touch of excitement entering her voice. “But I don’t suppose you all share information. On TV the FBI and the police always fight over cases. Is that what’s happening here?”

  “No.” Shannon’s voice remained remarkably calm. “We’re just helping them out. Sometimes people remember things later.”

  “Well, that’s all I know.” She sounded disappointed, as though she’d had more fun during our visit than she’d had all month and didn’t want it to end.

  “Do you know where any of the other people who lived in this building live now?” Shannon pressed.

  “I don’t socialize much. Sorry.”

  “Thank you for your time.”

  We’d already knocked on the other apartment and received no answer, so there was nothing for it but to head back down to the lobby and into the cold once again.

  “Wait!” the old woman called as the elevator began to close.

  Shannon stopped it with a hand. “You remember something?”

  “Yeah, just now. Not sure why, but this young lady reminded me of something.” She indicated me with a tiny jutting of her chin. “Not sure why. Anyway, a woman did visit here once after I returned from Washington, one with golden skin and a whole bunch of dark hair pinned up on her head. I studied English in college, and she looked Celtic to me—small nose, dark, oval eyes, but she was tall. I remember her mostly because she wore a lot of unusual jewelry. Really strange stuff. I remember asking Jim about it later, and he told me he’d talked to her in the lobby and that she was a shaman. You know about them, I suppose. They say they heal the body by healing the spirit, or some such nonsense. I guess the girls called her because the thin one kept coughing.” She frowned. “Or did that come later?” She shook her head. “Anyway, she was here once that I knew about. She helped me bring my groceries up the stairs. She had marvelous endurance. I envied that.”

  Shaman beliefs were different from the hippie lifestyle I’d been raised in but not so far removed that I hadn’t heard of them. When I was eight a shaman had stayed at our apartment for a week, sleeping on the couch. He’d claimed to go on spiritual journeys and talk to his ancestors. He was half Indian, though he’d assured me there were many types of shaman and offered to teach me. It was probably the only time Summer had asked me to wait until I was older to learn something.

  “She gave me a charm,” the old woman continued. “Said it was for strength to keep climbing the stairs. I saw one like it in a store, and it cost over three hundred smackers. Anyway, I keep it in the change pocket of my purse, though they fixed the elevator the next year.” Her eyes gleamed. “Maybe that’s why I’m still so spry.”

  “May I see it?”

  Grinning, the old woman shuffled slowly inside, leaving her door open, and returned long minutes later with her purse. She handed over a circlet of wood half the size of my palm. The only imprint was a faint one of looking out over the Willamette River and carving, slowly carving. Methodical strokes while singing a song that sounded like praise. The piece of wood held nothing except the well-wishes of a woman who liked to be helpful.

  I gave a single shake of my head at Shannon. “Thank you.” I returned the carving to the old lady.

  “You have my card if you remember anything else.” Shannon walked over and jabbed the elevator button.

  I waited until we were in motion before saying, “Well, we didn’t learn anything here, except the midwife might also be a shaman. Maybe someone knows something more in one of the adjacent buildings.”

  “Maybe the shaman is the key,” Shannon said. “If Cindy convinced her to put Gail’s name on the birth papers, they might have had some sort of prior relationship. She may not be from around here at all but someone from Cindy’s past. She might even have known that Jenny’s father wasn’t a good man and that’s why she agreed to help hide her birth from him.”

  “So maybe if we find the shaman or midwife, we find the birth father.”

  “Except there are a lot of shamans in Portland. I mean, if you count the lay ones without professional training.”

  I laughed. “There’s a lot of everything here. Did Tracy find addresses from Cindy’s background?”

  He checked his phone. “No one seems to know where Cindy grew up or anything about her schooling years, but Tracy asked for a courtesy update from the FBI, and they’ve tracked down her mother. She’s still alive and in a government rest home. She’s too far gone, though, to give them any information.” Shannon gazed at the next building. “Not sure it’s worth knocking on all those doors, though we’ll do it if we can’t think of anything else.”

  Disappointment reeled through me. We’d come so far only to slide to a screeching halt. If Cindy hadn’t grown up in this area, and if the shaman or midwife was someone she�
��d known before, canvassing all the nearby apartments would be a waste of time.

  “Agent Cross strikes me as a thorough woman.” Shannon raked his hands through his hair. “I bet she’s already having her associates talk to all these people.”

  “I think we should go see Cindy’s mother. Even if she can’t tell us anything, her stuff might be able to.” I grimaced. “Well, provided she’s kept something from that time.” I wanted to find Jenny, for me every bit as much as for her. I didn’t want this to end up like my first case with Shannon in which a ten-year-old girl had gone missing on her bicycle. I’d helped her family find closure, but they would never see Alice grow up.

  “All right. Let’s do it,” he said as he started the engine. “You know what? I’m surprised Tracy didn’t meet us here.”

  “She’s probably planning to go out. It is the weekend, you know.” She’d been dating a doctor for a month now but hadn’t as yet let Shannon know his identity for fear he’d scare him off with background checks and interrogations. “She actually has a life—unlike us.”

  He laughed. “Is there someplace you’d rather be?”

  It was a mixed question, because I wanted to be with him but not necessarily tracking a possible kidnapper or trying to learn whether my biological father was a child predator. Instead of answering, I said lightly, “Be quiet and drive.”

  White flakes began falling, fulfilling Cody’s prediction and ramping up my worry. If Jenny was hurt in a field or forest somewhere, the snow would further obscure any tracks.

  “Aren’t you going to eat your sandwich?” Shannon asked, munching on his as he dodged through the busy Friday night traffic.

  “Maybe later.” We were crossing one of the many bridges spanning the Willamette, and that always brought memories of losing Winter.

  Shannon cast me a significant look and didn’t say anything. I was glad. I didn’t want sympathy. I wanted to focus on Jenny.

  The rest home was at the edge of the commercial district. I peered through the windshield as we arrived. Snow was still falling, though the roads were clear, the flakes being ground into water beneath the many passing tires. The building was a squat, pallid-looking place surrounded by gray snow, looking like something from the slug family wallowing in a freezing, muddy pond. Weak lights lined the walkway that already retained a fresh, dusty layer of snow.