The Blind Page 11

  Evie unknotted Zoe’s hands and placed them on her stomach. “What happened?”

  Zoe flattened her palms on the bulge. “Everyone was on the main river, which seemed odd to me. Abby never went with the flow.” A shaky laugh tumbled from her pale lips. “Abby always did her own thing. So I started down a side creek. Lots of snow and rocks, but the water wasn’t as deep, so there was less ice. I started running, chasing the sun, which was going down, and that’s when I saw her. Stretched out on the bank. Yellow jeans, green jacket, white boots.”

  Jack didn’t move but for the blood draining from his face. Evie tried to catch his eye, but he was totally focused on his sister’s childhood friend.

  “And when you found her?” Evie prompted.

  “I took her into my arms. She was so cold and still. I couldn’t see her chest moving. I felt for a pulse and found one, just barely.”

  “She was dead,” Jack said. “I saw her die.”

  Zoe nodded so quickly, tears fell from her eyes. “She did die, Jackie. She told me all about it. About her lungs that felt like they were imploding, the world fading to black, and you refusing to let go of her necklace. Then she told me about the light, a brilliant golden light at the end of a tunnel with gold bricks, but when she got to the tunnel, she said she couldn’t get through, that she pounded on those bricks until her hands were bloody. And finally, she stopped fighting. Abby said the next thing she remembered was me grabbing her around the chest and pulling her up the riverbank.”

  Evie watched for Jack to crack, to explode and shatter. He swallowed twice. “Are you telling me Abby was alive and you never said anything to anyone?”

  Zoe pushed aside Evie. “Yes, Jack, I said something. I said one word. Yes.” That single word was wrapped in steel. “I got Abby back to my car, and it was clear she was going to live. She was smiling and talking about the light. Jack, she looked so happy, I mean ecstatic. She said she wanted to go to the light.”

  Jack’s hands balled into fists. “You helped her die?”

  “No, Jack. I helped her live.” Zoe heaved herself out of the rocker, her stomach throwing her off balance as she waved a hand at the picture window where sleet slashed at the glass pane. “She wanted out of this place, and for the past year she’d been planning on going to L.A.”

  “Los Angeles?” Evie asked because Jack looked like he’d just taken a blow to his jaw.

  Zoe nodded. “Abby had talked about moving to California for years, living and working in a place where the sun shone three hundred days a year, where there was no snow and sleet and steel mill dust. It wasn’t just a dream. She made plans. She was saving money and found this place in downtown L.A. where a bunch of artists stayed in an old warehouse. She said it was a dive, but cheap. A week before the accident, I loaned her the rest of the money for a bus ticket.”

  Jack found his voice. “She was only sixteen. She hadn’t even graduated high school.”

  “Like that was important to her,” Zoe said with a snap. “Come on, Jack. You knew Abby better than anyone. When she wasn’t down, she thought she could take on the world.”

  “But she wanted Los Angeles?” Evie had to keep this on track.

  “Yes. So after I pulled her from the riverbank, she begged me to help her escape.” Zoe crossed her arms over her chest and turned to Jack. “She knew you would never let her go. God, Jack, you were her brother, father, and bodyguard all rolled into one. She said if she stayed in this place any longer, she’d die. She didn’t use the word suicide, but she was talking about getting out of this place one way or another.” Zoe took a deep breath. “I gave her clothes and drove her to the bus station in Pittsburgh and that night watched the bus take off.”

  Color crept back into Jack’s face. A raging red. “You let my mother, a woman who loved you like her own child, think Abby was dead!”

  “I made a promise to a friend!” Zoe’s cheeks pinkened. “Abby said she loved you and your mom and would come back. She just …. she said she’d come back eventually.”

  “She didn’t!” Jack’s voice was so loud the giggling on the floor above stopped.

  “I know, Jack. I think about it every day. I loved her, too, and that’s why I let her go.” Zoe’s calm, steady gaze landed on Evie. “What do you need from me now?”

  “Let’s all be clear,” Evie said. “At no time was a young man in the picture who liked to paint and draw and may have been stalking Abby?”

  Feet padded down the steps. “Never,” Zoe said softly.

  Evie let out a long breath. “Which means Abby must have met Vandemere in Los Angeles.”

  The tight line of Jack’s mouth bent at the corners, and she could see the struggle. He wanted to say it, but he couldn’t bring himself to. He was a man who didn’t let go, and for more than fifteen years he’d been hefting a mountain of guilt on those broad shoulders.

  She, on the other hand, tasted the words—the hope—perched on the tip of her tongue. She savored the sweetness, the fullness and richness of a time in an investigation when anything was possible. She squatted in front of him, forcing his gaze on her. “Which means…” Jack had to be the one to make the jump, but damn if she wasn’t going to give him a push.

  His jaw twitched. Then his lips curved into a barely there smile. “Which means my sister still may be alive.”

  * * *

  Sunday, November 1

  12:26 a.m.

  “Dammit, where are you?” Evie said under her breath.

  With only the soft glow from the dimmed cabin lights, Jack watched her dig through the cupboard behind the bar in his jet. After less than twelve hours in his hometown, they were flying back to Los Angeles. He ran both hands through the sides of his hair, still damp with icy rain. It was amazing how your entire life could change in a handful of hours.

  Evie swatted at the hair falling across her face and muttered another curse.

  He grinned, and Evie had been the catalyst, the spark, for the monumental change. “Second shelf on the right.”

  Bottles clanked until she finally pulled out a squat bottle of a twenty-five-year-old single-malt scotch. “How’d you know what I was looking for?”

  “You strike me as a whiskey kind of girl.”

  “I am, but right now this girl isn’t the one in need of a shot.” She slammed two ice-filled tumblers on the table and poured a long stream of the amber liquid into each.

  Jack lifted his glass to her. “Well done, Agent Jimenez. You have officially rocked my world.”

  She settled into the captain’s chair across from his. The wind and rain had tangled her hair. Mud clung to her boots. She scraped a fingernail along her jeans, and two dried Cheerios popped off. “Glad to be of service.”

  Jack brought the glass to his mouth, the icy liquid burning a swath of warmth down his throat and into his gut. “She’s alive. Until anyone can give me proof otherwise, Abby is alive.”

  Evie set her glass aside and reached across the aisle, curving her palm over his hand. “I’m with you all the way on this one.”

  He rotated his hand so her palm rested against his. Such a small hand. Dirt under two nails. But so powerful.

  “I will find her,” Evie said with the same conviction she used when promising to track down and stop the Angel Bomber.

  This was the woman who had no qualms about defying presidential orders and who carved a spot for herself on Parker Lord’s famed team. To say she was formidable was an understatement. He laced his fingers with hers. “I appreciate the sentiment, Evie, but right now you’re doing what you need to be doing.” With his free hand, he tapped the face of his watch. “It’s November first. The bomber could strike at any time. You need to be pouring your heart into finding Carter Vandemere.”

  “It’s a good thing I have a big heart.”

  Agreed. She poured it into her work and wore it on her sleeve.

  She scooted to the edge of her chair, her knees brushing his. “I also have a big team of incredibly talented people, includi
ng Agent Jon MacGregor. He is the best missing and endangered person finder in the world. He’s on his way to L.A. and will meet with us in the morning.”

  He shouldn’t be surprised. Evie, who knew only one speed, was charging ahead. He brought their clasped hands to his lips and whispered against the intertwined flesh, “Thank you.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Sunday, November 1

  6:51 a.m.

  So what is this place?” Evie asked over the roar of the whisking rotors as she and Jack dashed across the roof of the Elliott Tower. On the overnight flight from southwestern Pennsylvania, they managed to snag a few hours’ sleep. This morning Jack no longer looked shell-shocked and in need of a stiff drink. Far from it. Before the plane landed, he’d slipped on a fresh shirt and suit, shaved, and arranged for a helicopter to take them from LAX to the Elliott Tower. He was a man charging ahead to find his long-lost sister.

  Jack slipped a hand along her waist, escorting her toward the roof access door. “A rooftop,” he shouted.

  The wind lifted her hair, the ends slapping her across the face as if to wake her. Oh, she was awake all right, especially the skin at the base of her spine where Jack’s fingers set off hot, wild sparks. And of course her own fingers still pulsed with a heat from where his lips had touched last night. Evie grabbed his hand and jogged past the door to the other side of the roof. “I mean this.”

  The helicopter took off, the rota-swoosh and brisk wind fading.

  “A garden,” Jack said.

  “On a roof?” She strolled to a pair of pergolas that housed wooden planters with shrubs and flowers, bronze sculptures, and stone pathways winding through thick grass and along wooden benches.

  “These types of enhanced work spaces boost employee morale and give employees a convenient, aesthetically appealing place to take breaks and eat lunch. It’s a bottom-line booster.”

  Evie dipped her fingers into water cascading along a sheet of copper into a koi pond. “It’s beautiful.”

  Jack cast a quick glance at the fountain, then checked the face of his watch. “I guess it is.”

  “You don’t get up here much, do you?”

  “No, not on this side of the roof.”

  “You have beautiful gardens you don’t stroll through and beautiful paintings you don’t look at.” She threw back her arms as if to embrace the sky. “You, Jack Elliott, are missing out on life.”

  A slow smile curved his lips. “That may be the case, and we can certainly discuss the deplorable situation that is my social life after we meet with Agent MacGregor.”

  Flinging the water from her fingers, she followed him back to the door. As she had mentioned to Jack on the flight back to L.A., Jon MacGregor, her team’s endangered-and-missing-child expert, had flown in to spearhead the search for Abby Elliott. They were scheduled to meet first thing this morning.

  At the door to the roof stairs, Jack dug into his pants pocket and frowned. He patted his suit coat and shirt pockets. The frown reached his eyes.

  “What is it?” Evie asked.

  “I left my key card in my other suit coat.”

  “No worries.” She dug into her bag and pulled out her key card. “I got us covered.”

  He waved it off. “Visitor badges don’t allow roof access.”

  She swiped anyway. The dot remained red.

  Jack dug out his phone and jabbed at the face. He barked an order, then disconnected the call with another jab. “Security will have a man here in ten minutes.” He jabbed at the phone again. “Let me call my maintenance team and see if they can get here quicker.” His face now sported a full-fledged scowl.

  “It’s not that big a deal, and there are worse places to be stranded.” Evie wandered back toward the garden. Back home in Albuquerque, she had a potted cactus garden one of her nephews had made her for her last birthday, the perfect type of garden for her as it could stand the heat, was small, and didn’t need much tending.

  “As you keep reminding me, a clock is ticking.” More than a hint of irritation edged his words.

  She laughed and sat on a bench near the copper-sheeted fountain. “This isn’t about a clock, Jack. It’s about you making a mistake.”

  As expected, he strode to her side. “Excuse me.”

  She propped her boots on the rock surrounding the koi pond. “You’re the type of guy who doesn’t make mistakes, and it ticks you off that you left your key card in your other coat.”

  He watched the fish slide in and out of light dappling the waters before shaking his head and sitting next to her. “I take it you know this because you’re not the type of gal who makes mistakes.”

  A laugh ripped from her chest. “Hardly.”

  “There’s no room for error in the bomb business,” he argued.

  “True. I don’t cross wires while at work, but I’m no stranger to messes.”

  This time he laughed as he reached out and plucked a leaf from her hair. “So you get a little ruffled.” He held up the leaf.

  She plucked it from his fingers. “Oh, no. I make full-on mistakes.”

  “Like?”

  “I think we’ll need more than ten minutes.”

  “Like?” He kept that intense gaze on her, a man who commands attention and answers. But she didn’t have anything to hide.

  She cupped her hands behind her head. Where to start? “Like having an egg hunt with my nephews last Easter in my mom and dad’s house and not being able to track down all the eggs. For three months the house stank until my mom unearthed the last of the rotten eggs, which six-year-old Tommy had hidden in a vent in the laundry room.”

  “I call that unbridled enthusiasm.”

  “And there was the time just last month when my teammate Finn Brannigan asserted his motorcycle was faster than my truck. Of course I had to prove him wrong, and I did until a cop pulled me over just as I got the speedometer past one hundred. Definitely a mistake, and for the record, we both got speeding tickets.”

  “And that’s team bonding.”

  She could see why Jack Elliott was so successful in business. He could put a twist on anything he wished. She unlaced her hands and let them fall in her lap. Did he even remember kissing her fingers? Did he sense the jolt his lips had sent through her entire body? “And then there’s last night.”

  A vertical line striped the center of his forehead. “What mistake did you make last night?”

  She grabbed his hand and twined her fingers with his. Last night he’d been vulnerable when he admitted his hope, his bone-deep desire, that his sister was still alive. Looking at him over their clasped hands, she said point-blank, “I should have kissed you back.”

  Jack’s eyes sparked, and she knew he remembered the touch of his lips to her fingers. His shoulders, so wide they blocked the rising sun behind him, bounced in a soft laugh. “You’re fearless.”

  “Does that bother you?”

  “No, not at all. I like strong, courageous, independent women.”

  “Is that the type you take to your bed?”

  “I…” He tilted his head, not a single wave of hair falling out of place. “Yes, it is.”

  “That’s good to know.” Because knowns were always so much easier to work with. She was about to open her mouth, when the roof access door opened, a harried security guard rushing at them and apologizing for not getting there sooner.

  For a solid five seconds, Jack stared at their clasped hands before turning to the guard. “No worries,” Jack said as he pulled her to her feet and walked her toward the stairs, their fingers still intertwined.

  * * *

  7:22 a.m.

  “Pull over,” Evie said as Jack turned onto Sixth Street in the Arts District. “There’s Jon.” This morning her teammate Jon MacGregor could have passed for a well-turned-out artist type. Black trousers, mock black turtleneck, and a gaze so intense, Evie could feel the razor-sharpness as they pulled into the parking lot of a seafood warehouse.

  After a quick greeting, Jon handed each
of them a stapled batch of papers. He was all business, and despite the moment on the rooftop, she and Jack were back to the business of finding his sister. “Here’s the hit list. I checked classified ads and real estate publications from fifteen years ago and came up with twelve leads of low-rent spaces targeting the artist crowd. If Abby came to this area, it’s likely she stayed in one of these buildings. This morning I’m going to visit all of the warehouses and talk to property management companies and see if I can get a bead on Abby, and especially for you, Evie, I got the name of a street cop who’s been working with runaways down here for twenty years.”

  Evie’s dad had worked his entire life as a beat cop for Albuquerque PD. He never wanted to make detective, never wanted to get into vice or homicide. He wanted to be on the streets because according to him, that’s where it all started and ended. Evie nudged Jack in the stomach. “I told you he was good.” She skimmed through the papers. “When I’m done with the cop, I’ll help you tackle buildings.”

  “Sounds good.” The serious set of Jon’s eyes softened. “And stay safe.”

  Damn that shooter for taking a potshot at her in the alley. First Hayden and now Jon was concerned about her. Her. She clapped her teammate on the shoulder. “Sure, Jon. You too.”

  Downtown Los Angeles wasn’t a war zone, but this morning it reminded Evie of her days in Afghanistan, the days she watched the skies for incoming rounds and checked carefully around corners for things that went boom. The air hummed, as if charged by a low-voltage current of expectation. Today was the first of November, and the Angel Bomber could strike anywhere at any time.

  On their drive to the Arts District, they’d passed three patrol cars and a patrolman on foot. In Little Tokyo a K-9 walked the streets with his handler. At this hour as dawn made way for day, the streets were empty and quiet, but soon people would gather for Sunday-morning services, coffee, and playdates at the park.