Before Wulf merged onto the freeway, he had connected a call with his sister, Shelly, and gave her a short rundown of what had occurred. Wanting to help, she logged back into the LAPD database with Quincy’s credentials to provide Wulf with the address of the Blackwoods. As the last people to see her, the detective in him decided to begin there.

The Blackwoods lived about thirty minutes away in a luxurious condominium characterized by tennis courts, day spas, and ample room for joggers. Wulf found an empty spot in the parking lot across from their home just as a middle-aged man and woman went running along the trail before him, their smiles and chatter fit for a commercial. This was the type of place Mary Jane would be leery of. Don’t fucking get caught up in emotion, Dylan. Focus on finding her instead.

Wulf walked past the trail that surrounded each home and opened the gate for the Blackwoods’ lot. As he knocked on the door, a savory smell of meat and spices wafted to him.

“I’ll be,” Tom said, opening it. “Dylan, to what do we owe the pleasure?”

Before Wulf spoke, Amy appeared and wrapped herself in his arms. They weren’t the type to question his unexpected arrival, she smiled. “I’ve just finished the beef stroganoff. Come in, come in. Where’s Mary Jane?”

“That’s why I’m here.” Wulf stood rooted at the welcome mat. He quickly explained that he hadn't seen Mary Jane since the morning they left for home. “When you said goodbye to her, who was she with?”

“I dunno.” Amy began to fret. “They were rude. Hardly even spoke to us.”

“Real tall guy,” Tom said. “And…a woman.”

“What did they look like?” Wulf asked.

“Mexican,” Amy chimed in, shrugging as if that sole fact was description enough. As Wulf waited, she sighed and continued, “Well, the female, she had a little Spanish flair about her. Lighter skinned. Penelope Cruz with a snotty attitude. Her hair was very long, past her waist. But the guy was dark skinned, really tall, and real uhhh…ugly with a puffy, fat face—”

“Yes, he had a boxer face,” Tom finally got a word in.

Amy nodded. “He had on one of those shiny gangster suits. Not as tailored as the woman’s. Her clothes were very expensive looking.”

Wulf probed, “Anything else? Ages? Distinguishable marks or tattoos?”

Amy’s eyes narrowed in keen observation. “Um…both had to be around thirty or so, give or take a few years. The guy had a tiger head tattooed on his neck. It appeared as if it might have continued past his collar. Why? What’s wrong? Is this official police business?” Amy rushed, as if a light bulb went off in her brain. Her blue eyes lit up with interest.

“Go get the camcorder, Ames, we’ve got to document this!” Tom sprang into action.

“No,” Wulf cut in. “Do you remember anything else about them?”

“They had a nice car. A Mercedes AMG, dark gray, nice chrome,” Tom added with a nod.

“License plate?”

“Nah, sorry.”

“Names?”

“Uh…the lady’s name was Soledad,” Amy said with a confident nod. “At least I think. When the guy called her that, she got really mad. Maybe it’s some type of nickname.”

“Okay, anything else you remember?” Wulf asked, stopping Amy’s chattering ways.

“Nope.” Tom shrugged.

Amy shook her head.

“Okay, thanks. Once she comes home,” he felt stiff making the statement, “we’ll invite you to dinner.” He turned to leave, heaviness weighing him down, since he was always a man of his word.

Amy gasped. “Oh, Mary Jane did leave a message for you!”

“It’s probably inconsequential now. But what was it…?” Tom chewed his bottom lip.

Amy said, “Something about her cooking. Uh, she’d gone fishing and marinated salmon—or was it bass? Mary Jane was so serious about it, I swear. I can’t believe we forgot to tell you then. She’d said lunch would be ready when you got home.”

Wulf gulped down the notion that he’d failed Mary Jane. Just like Gracie. He was reliving the day he’d told the girl’s social worker he didn’t have enough time to become a caregiver.

Wulf turned down the street he grew up on and honked his horn at Bryan and Ryan who were coasting past him on the sidewalk. While his own stomach rumbled for dinner, the boys seemed like they could run the summer away without so much as stopping for nourishment. He managed a tight smile despite the uneasy tightness in his gut, seeing them turning at the end of the cul-de-sac and heading back toward him. He parked on the sidewalk and stared out of the window for a moment. The suburb faded away as Wulf thought about catching the first flight back to Mexico. With the Feds after Jake and their interest in tying him to Mary Jane, he didn’t want to alert them with using his debit card. He sure as hell didn’t want to make any wrong moves. Because right now, Wulf only had Amy and Tom as witnesses to Mary Jane’s disappearance. He’d have to use resources and be smart about finding her.

Rubbing the back of his neck, Wulf determined his game plan and got out.

Brenda sat on a lilac colored wicker chair with fresh snipped roses in her lap as she watched Bree. Wulf put his hands in his pockets and watched her from the gate. The tot rode leisurely around on her Big Wheel, making a wide turn at the porch then coming toward him.

“Uncle.” Her shy voice was drowned out by her loud brothers’.

“Dylan, Dylan,” they said in unison. Questions flew around him about playing catch and basketball.

He patted both boys on the head as Bree methodically moved out of the bike.

“Oh, so I’m on babysitting duty tonight,” he replied, tossing Bree into the air. She gave this tiny little shrill. “Girl, we have to toughen you up.” He caught her and placed her down.

“Yes, you have to watch us,” Bryan cut in.

Ryan piggy-backed with an upbeat response, “Our parents are going to a party. So what are we gonna do?”

Wulf rubbed a hand over his face. He needed to focus and ask Quincy to use his resource of the LAPD database about Mary Jane’s abductors. The children followed him up to the porch where he planted a kiss on his mom’s head.

“We’re on diaper duty?” He barely managed a joke.

“Not me.” Brenda grinned. “You’ve got some catching up to do, and my DVR is filled with every episode of Law and Order.”

“Sometimes Grammy recites the words.” Bryan chuckled.

She reached over and grabbed his cheek, smacking it with a kiss. “So what? It makes me feel younger, recalling the words. Okay?”

“Okay, tonight we’ll have some fun,” he said. “I’m going to head in and get cleaned up.”

In the house, Shelly walked down the steps in a simple white dress and strappy high heels. “Hey, before I forget, there’s a package in the hall for you. What happened with the infamous Mary Jane?” Though Shelly’s voice sounded encouraging, her eyes warmed with worry. “Were your mutual friends able to help?”

Wulf’s eyebrows furrowed, ignoring her question. He’d been ready to address Quincy and beg for his help in searching out Mary Jane’s abductors, but he went to the accent table in the hallway. Wedged between a vase of faux orchids was the family’s junk mail, but at the edge of the table sat a small brown box. He plucked it up and headed back into the living room to sit down.

Shelly stood at the ornament mirror, placing a ruby red chandelier earring into her ear. “C’mon, spill, I need to know what —”

“I haven’t given anyone this address.” He glanced at the official USPS stamp then at the sender. Linda G. Curbelo from San Francisco.

“You haven’t?” His adoptive sister mumbled, slipping on the second earring.

“Should you be opening that?” Quincy speculated as he ambled down the stairs in a white linen suit. “D, who is it from? Do I need to call in the bomb squad?”

He put it down, grabbed his cell phone, and Googled her name. A hunch made him add “+ Grienke.” Instantly, various articles popped up with divorce settlements and claims that Linda had helped Grienke create a revolutionary facial product but she did not get the credit.

“She’s Peter Grienke’s ex-wife.”

“D!” Quincy’s vein pulsed. “You’re telling me that crazed sociopath, Peter Grienke, has his ex-wife working for him? That he possibly knows where your entire family lives?”

“I don’t think the package is a threat,” Wulf barked. “Listen, I have never given out this address. And, Quincy, I haven’t left L.A. to unlearn everything.” He held up the package. “It’s probably some mind-fuck or taunt about Mary Jane. She’s missing.”

“Quincy, we have to help.” Shelly came to sit down beside her adoptive brother.

“I need to ask you a question, Quincy.”

His friend’s chest deflated as he leaned against the doorframe.

“Mary Jane left with two people,” Wulf said. “A male, around seven feet tall, with a tiger tat, possibly traveling from his neck and downward. A woman with—”

“You want me to run their description through the database. Why would I do that?” Quincy crossed his arms. “Why would I help you, D, put yourself in further danger for that crazy bitch?”

Shelly cleared her throat. “Quincy, if you don’t help my brother, I will.”

He cut her off with a raised hand of defeat. “The Feds are handling it, Shelly. And if something happens to your brother, then you’re in my face, harping another tune. So I’m out of this. And, babe, your supervisor’s annual summer fling is tonight. I don’t want to go, but I’d prefer it to whatever suicide mission Dylan is on for some girl he hardly knows. Hell, she doesn’t know herself.”

“Quincy!” Shelly snapped.

“No, the two of you went behind my back earlier to figure out my password. Just do it again.”

Shelly glared at her husband’s back and then gestured for Wulf to open the box. Too anxious to sit, Wulf took a wide legged stance next to the fireplace and worked his finger into the adhesive. A letter was tied around a leather-bound notebook. He started there, placing the notebook onto the coffee table.

Hello, Officer Dylan Wulf. I can only assume that your first intention was to disregard me as you’ve previously done while screwing MY wife. Before you allow your impulses to take control, it would behoove you to continue with this letter. The package includes the contents of my journal, which outlines the few precious years I’ve spent with my sweet honey pot, Mallory.

Now as to why you’ve been included into the equation, it is obvious.

At the current time, you are alone. That should be insufferable enough, right? Having loved Mallory and her leaving you. Yes, I know your plight. Isn’t living without her unbearable? I’m not sure how I sent her away for memory extraction without my heart breaking for good.

I’ve been told Mallory is now referred to as Mary Jane “Doe”? Our sweet Mal has declined my name. I hear she’s also declined her maiden name (for logical reasons). Please excuse the ramblings—

“It took all of my strength not to devour her at first sight.” Shelly scoffed.

Wulf glanced away from the delusional asshole’s letter to see his sister holding the journal and reading from it.

“This sick fuck probably has a healthy diet of his own urine.” She continued to scan.

Bile burned at his throat considering how Grienke and Mary Jane crossed paths. “What does it say?”

“The young Miss Portman, with her pristine education and numerous accolades, was not as I’d anticipated when she came for an interview. Her demeanor soft and polite to the point of being weak. When I stated my interest in another laboratory assistant, she came to life with a vigor that prompted me to act. Without another thought, I gave Miss Portman the job.” Shelly pushed the book across the table. “I can’t read any more of it. Okay, I literally hated her for taking you away from the family longer, then for leaving you. You’re my brother. I have to look out for your best interest, but—you must find her.”

Wulf shoved a hand through his hair. “I’m working on it.”

He scanned over the concluding remarks of Grienke’s letter: Dylan; my objective is to bring you up to speed. In which, I chose to include this letter to prompt you to continue on with reading my journal. Therefore, allow me to get back to the topic. Mary Jane is gone. – Peter Grienke.