15

“You haven’t mentioned Trish all week. What’s up with that?” Mac hung a right at the corner in the rundown business district.

Colin surveyed the storefront addresses as the car rolled along the main street of the small municipality in unincorporated St. Louis County. “We’re getting close to our address.”

“End of the block, I’m guessing. You gonna answer my question?”

His colleague’s tenacity was a definite plus on the job. Not so much when it came to personal topics.

“Nothing’s up. We’re on hold until the investigation is over.”

“No mixing business and pleasure, huh?”

“Something like that.”

“Been there, done that—with Lisa. Tough spot to be in.”

Tough didn’t begin to capture it.

“At least I had a reason to see her, since we were working a case together.” Mac jumped back into the silence. “Maybe you can come up with an excuse to drop by or call.”

“Yeah.”

Except he’d already caved and tried the call tactic. Trish hadn’t answered, and he hadn’t left a message.

Why not try again after they wrapped up here, though? Their Mexican dinner six nights ago seemed like ancient history.

He motioned to a shop with photos of hairstyles plastered to the windows. “We’ve arrived.”

Mac pulled into the curb with a practiced twist of his wrist, set the brake, and surveyed the faded sign. “Polly’s Beauty Boutique could use some beautifying.”

“That’s an understatement. You ready?”

“Yeah. Investigating a missing person report should be a breeze after the double homicide that hit our plates this week. Assuming this woman is even missing.”

“I hear you.” Colin gave the past-its-prime shop another sweep and opened his door. A fair number of missing adults disappeared by choice, and there was nothing the police could do in those situations except try to confirm there’d been no foul play. “Let’s see what we can find out.”

Mac circled the car and met him at the entrance. “You want to take the lead while I observe?”

“Sure.”

After stepping through the door, he gave the interior a quick scan. Hair dryers on one side, sinks on the other, a row of chairs in front of mirrors, a table containing a rack of nail polish. Every person in the shop was female . . . and every head swiveled their direction.

He stepped forward. “We’re looking for the owner.”

A fiftyish buxom brunette with streaks of purple in her black hair and a doughy face painted with too much makeup murmured a few words to her customer and walked over. “I’m Polly.”

Colin introduced himself and Mac. “Is there a private place where we could talk?”

“My office in back is about as private as it gets. And I don’t have a lot of time. We’re busy today.” Annoyance scored her words as she swept a hand over the interior. “Give me a minute to finish up with my customer.”

Without waiting for a response, she returned to the gray-haired woman in the chair and put a few more rollers in her hair.

Colin leaned closer to Mac and spoke under his breath. “Not the warmest welcome I’ve ever received.”

“I’m wondering why she bothered to call in the report.”

“Ditto.”

While they waited, Colin surveyed the middle-aged-and-older clientele. Some were openly ogling the male visitors; others were more discreet, peeking over the tops of their Hollywood gossip magazines. He wasn’t silver-screen handsome, but you’d never know it based on the admiring looks these women were giving him and Mac. Tall, youngish males in jackets and ties must be a novelty in a place like this.

His gaze paused on a young woman cutting hair in the far corner. She was surreptitiously watching them too—but her expression wasn’t flirty or curious.

It was nervous.

Why?

He angled toward Mac and tipped his head toward her station.

The other man gave a slight nod. He’d noticed her edgy behavior too.

“All right. Let’s go into the back.” Polly brushed past them, leading the way through the shop and into the tiny office. After circling behind a desk cluttered with product samples, piles of paper, curlers, and a wig stand sporting a mass of frizzy hair, she motioned to two molded plastic chairs.

Colin folded his long frame into one, grunting as his knees hit the front of the desk. Mac closed the door, scooted the other chair back until it hit the wall, then sat and wedged his legs between the desk and the seat.

“We’re here to follow up on the missing person report you filed on Natalie James.” Colin shifted his weight, trying without success to find a more comfortable position. “I understand she’s an employee here. Are you also related to her?”

“No. Far as I know, she doesn’t have any family. That’s one of the reasons I called the cops.”

“What were the other reasons?”

“She’s my best manicurist—and I’ve got customers with appointments. Canceling is bad for business.”

“When did you realize she was missing?”

“I told all this to the cop who showed up this morning.” She glared at him.

“If you don’t mind, we’d like to hear it again.”

The woman huffed out a breath. “She was supposed to work Tuesday afternoon and evening. She didn’t show. She was also on the schedule yesterday. Again, she didn’t show. And she isn’t here today, either. Her shift was two to nine. I’ve lost a chunk of change, thanks to her. Now I’m scrambling to find a replacement.”

“How long has she been employed here?”

“Four years.”

“Has she been reliable in the past?”

“Yes. Never missed a day except last year, when she had the flu. She actually came in, but I told her to go home. I didn’t want the rest of my girls or the customers to get sick.”

“Have you tried to contact her?”

“Yes. Cell phone, home phone, email, texting. I even drove by her place and knocked on the door at lunch today. No answer—but her car was in the lot. That’s when I called the cops.”

They already knew she wasn’t at her apartment . . . and that her car was. That had been their first stop. Trying to trace her cell phone had been a dead end too. No signal.

“Does she have a boyfriend?”

The woman sniffed. “I don’t gossip with my employees or ask about their personal business. As long as they show up and do their job, I don’t pry.”

“But you may have overheard her talking on the phone or to one of your other staff members.” Mac stepped in, his tone easy. Conversational. Empathetic. “That’s not prying—and this is your shop. I imagine you hear a lot of tidbits in this business that require discretion.”

“You’ve got that right.” She eyed Mac, her demeanor softening under his megawatt smile.

“If there’s anything at all you could tell us that would assist in our investigation, we’d be grateful. We couldn’t do our job without citizens like you who go out of their way to help people who might be in trouble.”

Man, he was laying it on thick.

But it was working. The woman practically preened under his praise.

“Well . . . I don’t know anything else myself, but you might want to talk to Maxine. She works here too.”

“Is she the one at the corner chair?” Colin rejoined the conversation.

Polly did not seem pleased by his interruption. Her grudging demeanor immediately slipped back into place.

“Yes.”

He passed the baton back to Mac with a look. His colleague was having a whole lot better luck getting cooperation from this woman.

“Are they friends?” Mac picked up the questioning.

“I don’t know if they socialize outside of work, but they talk a lot here. It’s possible she might know some useful information.” Polly adjusted one of the springy, wayward curls on the wig stand. “To tell you the truth, Maxine is one of the reasons I called in the report. She was worried, but she didn’t want to get involved with the police. A bad experience with a restraining order she got on an old boyfriend, I think. I heard he went ballistic and she ended up worse off than before. That’s hearsay, you understand.”

Colin glanced at Mac and read his own thoughts in the other man’s face.

If this Maxine didn’t like police, she might dodge their questions.

But it was worth a try.

“Would you mind if we talked to her for a few minutes? We won’t keep her away from your clients for long.” Mac gave her another warm smile.

“I suppose that would be okay.” She pushed herself to her feet and smoothed the too-snug tunic top over her ample hips. “I’ll send her back as soon as she’s at a stopping place with her customer.”

The instant she disappeared, Mac stood. “That is the most uncomfortable chair I’ve ever sat in.”

“I think it’s safe to say this office wasn’t designed for comfort.” Colin rose too. “Based on this Maxine’s history, she might not have much to say.”

“I know. I’ve seen more than a few restraining orders gone bad—and it’s never pretty.”

No, it wasn’t.

“Why don’t we . . .”

The young brunette from the corner chair appeared in the doorway, hovering on the threshold as she tucked a long strand of hair behind her ear. “Polly said you wanted to talk to me.”

“Yes.” Colin introduced them, giving the woman’s hand a firm shake before signaling Mac to take the chair behind the desk. “Why don’t you have a seat? We won’t keep you long.” He claimed the chair closest to the wall and tapped the one next to him.

She edged into the cramped space and perched on the edge of the rigid plastic.

“Polly said your name is Maxine. Could you give us a last name to go with that, and some contact information?” Colin tried to mimic the smile Mac had used to soften up the owner.

It didn’t work with this woman. Her posture remained stiff, her features pinched.

“What I tell you isn’t going to be public, is it?”

“No. It will stay in the case file.”

She fiddled with a button on her shirt, uncertainty flashing in her eyes, but finally complied.

“Polly told us you and Natalie were friends.” Colin finished writing and looked up. “She also said you were worried.”

“I am.” Maxine twisted her fingers together. “It’s not like Natalie to miss work.”

“When and where did you last talk to her?”

“Here, on Monday.”

“What kind of mood was she in?”

“Happy. Upbeat. Excited. She had a hot date that night.”

Colin didn’t need to check with Mac to know the other man’s antennas had gone up too.

A hot date one day, missing the next.

Suspicious.

“With a boyfriend?”

“No. She didn’t have a boyfriend. Not a steady one, anyway. Natalie kind of . . . she sort of played the field.”

In other words, she slept around.

Also a scenario more likely to lead to trouble.

“Do you know anything about the guy she saw Monday night?”

“Not much. She could be kind of close-mouthed about some stuff. Apparently he was a higher-class dude who didn’t want it known he went slumming at one of the bars Natalie liked.”

“How long has she known him?”

“He’s a new one. They met a couple of weeks ago and hooked up a few times.”

“Did she tell you this guy’s name?”

“Like I said, she was kind of cagey about that. At first she said it was Joe—but she thought it might be a made-up name. On Monday, she said it was Matt.”

“Did she give you a last name?”

“No. But she mentioned a Craig Elliott too. She said he was a friend of this guy’s from out of town, but he wasn’t there the night she dropped by to visit. First she called him Elliott, then backtracked and said it was Craig. I think she mixed up the first and last names. She was kind of flustered. She told me she saw the guy’s credit card on the counter at Matt’s house and used the number to buy some shoes for her date on Monday. I think she was worried Matt would figure it out when the guy got his bill and he’d be mad at her.”

A logical assumption. Using someone else’s credit card wasn’t just unethical, it was illegal.

“Do you know anything else about this Joe or Matt?”

“Not much. She said he had kind of a germ phobia—and he lives in the country somewhere.”

Colin stopped writing.

A higher-class guy named Matt who lived in the country.

Like Trish’s accountant.

Bizarre coincidence—or was it?

“Did Natalie have other friends who might be able to offer us any more information?”

“I don’t think so. She was kind of a loner, except for the guys she picked up. I was probably her closest friend, but we didn’t hang out together outside of work.”

“Can you give us the name of the bar where she met this guy, and any other bars she frequented?”

After jotting the names down as she recited them, he closed his notebook. “Mac . . . do you have anything else?”

“No. This was very helpful. Thanks for talking with us.”

“You’re welcome.” The brunette stood. Twisted her fingers together. “Do you think she’s okay? I mean, we weren’t like sisters or anything, but she was always decent to me. I’d hate to think anything bad has happened to her.”

“It’s too soon to answer that question.” Colin wrested himself free of the molded chair and stood too. “But I can promise you we’ll do our best to find her.”

With a dip of her chin, she backed toward the door and disappeared.

“Let’s say our good-byes to the owner and talk in the car.” Mac circled the desk. “The fumes from whatever concoctions they use in this place is making my eyes water.”

“I’m with you.”

Sixty seconds later, under the appreciative scrutiny of the female patrons, they bolted into the fresh air.

Mac drew in a lungful of air. “How could anyone stand to work in there all day?”

“You’ve got me. You’d think the EPA or OSHA would be all over places like this.” He inhaled too, then took the passenger seat.

“So what do you think?” Mac slid behind the wheel and started the engine.

“I think I’m impressed by your charm. You had Polly eating out of your hand.”

One side of Mac’s mouth hitched up. “I seem to do better with the older ladies—Lisa being the exception. And that’s not what I meant.”

“I know.” He adjusted his seat belt. “With Parker on our radar screen, it’s an uncanny coincidence that Natalie’s date was named Matt and lived in the country.”

“Agreed—but it’s a stretch to think they’re connected.”

“Stranger things have happened.”

“True. But my top priority is Natalie. I’ll get a search warrant rolling for her apartment and car. If she’s got a computer, forensics might come up with some leads. I also want to check out this Craig Elliott and visit the bars where Natalie hung out. I’ll pull a few other guys in to assist with the bar circuit.”

“Sounds like a plan.” Since Mac was the lead case detective, this was his show to run. “You want me to see what I can find out about Elliott while you get the search warrant going?”

“That would be helpful. Thanks.” Mac pulled into traffic. “When are you going to fit in work on the Eileen Coulter case? You have a full plate already.”

“I’ll manage.”

“I’m predicting a chunk of overtime in your future.” Mac guided the car toward the interstate.

“Some.”

“Anxious to see justice done . . . or to clear the slate so you can date Trish?”

“I’ll take the fifth.”

“Enough said.” Mac shot him a grin. “Let’s debrief some more on the two interviews we just did.”

Colin forced himself to shift gears. Eileen Coulter’s death was much older . . . and colder . . . than Natalie James’s disappearance. It could wait a few hours.

But no more than that.

Sarge might think they could investigate this at their leisure, that it was a lower priority than other cases—but the strange urgency buzzing in his nerve endings . . . the feeling that danger was hovering in the shadows and could escalate at any moment . . . the disquieting sense that Trish could find herself once more in harm’s way . . . were compelling motivations to push this. Hard.

And that included dissecting Matt Parker’s background. The man’s reputation and history might be stellar, but there were murky, turbulent waters beneath the placid surface he presented to the world.

So however much sleep he had to forfeit, he was going to find out why Parker had been going through that evidence bag in Trish’s hallway—and why he appeared to be setting her up to look forgetful . . . and to take the rap for her mother’s death.

“Good news, boss. We may have a lead on Elliott.”

Dmitri Kozlov swiveled away from the panoramic view of the Miami oceanfront as Oleg Petrov spoke from his office doorway.

“Come in. Sit.” He waved a hand across the expanse of burled walnut that formed his desktop, toward one of the plush, leather-upholstered chairs on the other side. “Tell me.”

Oleg took the chair he’d indicated. “We had a hit on his credit card.”

“Interesting.” Dmitri leaned back, set his elbows on the cushioned arms of his chair, and pressed his fingertips together. Why would Elliott use that card at all . . . and why now, after so many weeks? “What did he buy—and where did he buy it?”

“Shoes . . . in St. Louis. For less than one hundred dollars.”

That made no sense.

Dmitri tapped his fingertips together. Elliott knew how the operation worked, knew the connections they had, knew their tracking abilities. Why would he risk using a credit card they could easily trace for such a small purchase?

Whatever the reason, though, this was a welcome lead. To disappear for such a long stretch had been quite a feat. It was difficult to escape from this organization, as others had learned to their regret.

As Elliott would learn too, once they found him.

“You are certain it was his card?”

“Yes.”

“Perhaps it has been stolen.”

“That’s possible. Or he might have used it by mistake.”

Not likely. Elliott was impatient and greedy, but he was also meticulous. There was a story behind his sudden reppearance.

But as long as it led them to him, that story was irrelevant.

“Touch base with our contacts who have access to law enforcement in St. Louis. See if his name is on police radar.”

“As you wish.”

A hint of reluctance underscored the man’s words, and Dmitri studied him. “You have concerns?”

“Yes.”

If anyone else had been sitting across from him, Dmitri would have dismissed such a reservation with a flip of his hand. But Oleg had been in his employ for more than three decades. He was smart, played by the rules of the organization, and had keen insights. Dmitri might run the show in southern Florida, but trusted lieutenants were worth their weight in gold—and Oleg’s thoughtful analysis of situations had proven valuable in the past.

“Tell me.” He leaned back and laced his fingers over his flat stomach.

“I do not think you will want to hear what I have to say.”

“I would not ask if I did not want to hear. Speak.”

“Very well.” He smoothed a hand down the knife crease in his slacks, and when he continued, his words were careful and precise. “We have already expended great time and effort on this search. I am wondering if pursuing it further is the best use of our resources and contacts. This will require cashing in favors that could be reserved for larger matters.”

“He stole from the organization, Oleg.”

“Yes. Eighty-five thousand dollars over eighteen months. But that is small change for us.”

“Small change adds up. Worse, if he gets away with this, others will try to do the same, with less fear of reprisal.” He rocked back in his chair, weighed Oleg’s input . . . but in the end stayed with his original choice. “I appreciate your honesty and your recommendation, but we must make an example of him. It is the betrayal more than the theft that must be punished.”

“As you wish. I will begin to make inquiries.” Oleg rose, all hesitation gone.

Dmitri smiled his approval. As always, Oleg understood his role in the organization, accepted the decisions of his superiors, and would carry out orders. A good man.

“Keep me informed.”

“Of course.” With a slight bow, Oleg retreated from the office.

Once the door closed behind him, Dmitri again rotated his chair toward the expanse of glass that offered a commanding view of the sparkling blue ocean. This lead was positive news, and they would exploit it until Elliott was found—and paid the price for his betrayal.

Too bad he’d turned rogue, though. The man had amazing talent with numbers. His ability to structure transactions to avoid bank reporting requirements had been of great value to the organization. Bigger rewards would have come his way, had his skills continued to contribute to their coffers.

But he’d lost patience and succumbed to the temptation of greed, using those very skills to his own advantage. His stellar financial talent and ability to juggle numbers were no doubt the reason his skimming had gone unnoticed for eighteen months, despite close oversight of his work.

That might also be the reason he’d taken a new identity when he’d moved to Miami five years ago. Perhaps he’d pulled a similar stunt somewhere else—though they’d never discovered his original name, despite diligent background checks. He’d done an excellent job erasing his past. But they’d watched him for months, monitored their police contacts to make certain his new identity wasn’t on law enforcement radar, before “promoting” him from club manager to a more useful role in the organization.

Then he’d violated their trust.

The phone rang, and Dmitri turned his back on the stunning view to pick it up, putting Elliott out of his mind. There was no reason to waste worry on him now that he’d surfaced. He would be found.

And this time, there would be no escape.