Zack

 

Tyler found one Luca Damonte who owns a nightclub and several other businesses. He’s out doing surveillance while I’m sitting by the computer. Waiting for a ghost.

My computer beeps, alerting me of a new message.

Sorry, I’ve been sick, and then working.

The relief is instant. I sit down in front of my laptop. That’s okay. I’ve just been worried about you. Everything okay?

More than okay.

I hear the front door squeak open, and then Tyler walks in with a grin on his face, closing the door behind him.

“Did you find something?”

“Maybe. I have pictures of one Luca Damonte and one blonde-haired girl.”

I’m anxious to get a look at her, even if there’s no way of knowing if it’s Syrah.

Shit! Just like that, I lose her. Tyler hands me the SD card from the high- powered camera. I slide it in and click through the photos. She’s young, late teens, early twenties. It bothers me the way the two of them are staring at each other.

Tyler’s over my shoulder, looking at the photos. “Send them over to , have him run them through facial recognition.”

A few clicks of the keyboard, then I turn around and fold my arms across my chest. “Done.”

“Get some sleep, kid. Tomorrow’s another day.”

I watch as Tyler ambles to his room, leaving me alone in the living room. I’m restless for some reason. I grab a glass from the kitchen cabinet, fill it full of ice, then top it off with bourbon.

I head back to the couch, stretch my legs on the coffee table, and sip my drink. Her picture races through my head, along with the worry of what she’s running from. Who’s looking for her?

~~~

When I finally crawl out of bed the next morning, Tyler’s already up, frying bacon.

“Good morning,” I mumble as I head for the coffee pot.

Tyler grins over his shoulder. “Look who finally decided to climb out of bed.”

“Fuck you.”

He laughs and then turns back to his skillet full of bacon. There’s a half-empty bottle of bourbon sitting on the counter, which explains my pounding head. Beer is normally my beverage of choice.

I slide into a chair at the table just before Tyler sets a plate of bacon and eggs in front of me. “Eat. It’ll make you feel better.”

I grab a piece of bacon and stuff it in my mouth, take a sip of coffee, and then ask, “Did you hear back from ?”

“Not yet. I thought I’d go stake out her apartment today, find out who she is.”

“Sounds good. I’ll go with you.” I rub my forehead, deciding some ibuprofen might be in order.

~~~~

Sitting in the car just down the street from her apartment building, I sip a cup of coffee. There’s been no activity. None. “Are you sure this is where she lives?” I ask Tyler, irritated that we’ve been here for hours.

“Yes. This is where he brought her last night. I watched her walk inside.”

Another hour later, and I’m restless. I need to get inside that apartment, make sure everything is alright.

It’s late morning, the sky is clear, there are horns honking, people walking around, and at times, they obscure my view of her steps. Grabbing the handle, I wrench open the door and step outside.

“Where are you going?” Tyler asks as he gets out with me.

“I need to get a look inside that apartment.”

He grabs my arm. “We don’t have a warrant.”

I hesitate, staring at the front door. Then I look back at Tyler and jerk my arm away. “You’re right. You stay here.”

I head briskly up the street, but Tyler follows after me. “We’re partners, kid, no way I’m letting you go alone.”

I knock and then wait. I have no idea what’ll I say if she answers the door. How can I admit that I hunted her down on a hunch? That doesn’t sound stalkerish at all.

When no one answers, I clutch the doorknob and try to turn it, but it’s locked. No problem, I think as I look at the old lock; it will be easy to scrub.

When the door swings open, I call out, “Hello? Anyone home?”

Nothing. Just as I expected.

At first glance inside, I can see how tiny the apartment is. A worn couch, and a 32-inch TV that hangs on the wall is all the living area can hold. I imagine Syrah sitting on that couch at night messaging me.

On the kitchen counter sits a laptop, a half-full glass of wine next to it. My fingers skim the laptop cover before slowly opening it up while Tyler searches the other rooms.

I will know for sure if this is her. When the screen turns on, a smile spreads across my face.

Sorry Altruist, I just got a call and I have to go help a friend. Talk to you later.

My fingers skim the keyboard as I remember all of our conversations. I’m a little nostalgic until Tyler yells, “Zack, you need to see this.”

I snap the laptop shut and head down the hallway. Tyler’s standing in a corner holding a thick picture frame.

“What is it?”

He has a surprised look on his face as he holds out a picture for me to look at. Taking it from his hands, I notice the girl first. She looks to be around twelve, maybe thirteen. Long blonde hair is over her shoulder, and she looks so happy, a wide smile on her face.

When I look at the woman standing next to her, my head tilts, my eyes narrow then widen as I stare at the familiar face. My voice comes out strange. “Is that who I think it is?”

“Sure as hell looks like it.”

My eyes lock with Tyler’s. “It’s Caroline Stone.”

Keeping the picture tightly gripped in my hand, I glance around the apartment with a new perspective. Who is Syrah?

There’s nothing telling in the bedroom, so I head back to the kitchen-living room area and start searching through drawers.

Knifes . . .

Utensils . . .

Bill drawer . . . that’s exactly what I’m looking for. I snag the opened envelope and turn it over as I search. My eyes land on a name, Ariel Hancock.

Tyler walks up behind me. “What’s that?” he asks as he peers over my shoulder.

“Her name.” I turn the envelope over and look inside. It’s a bank statement, with a checking account that shows a balance of $1248.87. “Call Delansky, tell him I’m sending him a picture of a young girl. Cross reference the missing Nolan girl with this one and the ones we sent last night.” Tyler pulls out his phone and punches speed dial. “Ask him for all the information on Ariel Hancock. Here’s the address.” I hand over the envelope, snap a picture of the picture, and send it via email to Delansky.

 When I finish, Tyler’s already talking on the phone. “This is Tyler, I need a favor.” He rattles off the information as I glance around the room once again, tuning Tyler out.

So this is where you’ve been hiding while everyone has been searching for you.

When he clicks off, he says, “Delansky’s 99 percent sure this is Caroline’s daughter.” With a smile, he clasps my shoulder. “I have Ariel’s place of employment.” We head out and I lock the door behind me. Tyler’s shaking his head in disbelief. “Some hunch, kid. Caroline Stone’s missing daughter.”

Holy shit, this is huge. I drag my hand down my face and rub my jaw. We’ve been trying to find this girl for years, ever since her mother agreed to help us bust the smuggling ring wide open and put Frank behind bars. My mind races with memories of my first case as an agent.

Caroline, Frank Stone’s wife, had finally agreed to work with us. She wanted a better life for her and her daughter, and we promised to get them away from Frank, place them both in the witness protection program.

Equipped with a smart chip embedded in a thumb drive, all Caroline needed to do was turn on the computer, insert the thumb drive, and wait. The programmed chip would do the rest.

I don’t know how Frank found out, but he came home early, raging mad. Caroline quickly hid the thumb drive before he burst through the door, red-faced with anger. The way she told it, they had a heated argument where he threatened her daughter if anyone came after him, and after a rough, thorough body search, he threw her out without anything. No money, no clothes, and no daughter. He changed the locks. We had a social worker pay him a visit, but Frank assured them he lived alone. He even let them look around. We waited, but there were no signs of the girl, and we suspected he had sent her somewhere else to live.

Caroline refused to help us until her daughter was safe. It took time, but when we finally had enough evidence for a search warrant, it was as we suspected; the daughter was gone. No paper trail, nothing. She’d just disappeared one night, or so Frank had insisted. Caroline still worried that Frank had done something terrible to her daughter. Her imagination was limitless. It started with the daughter being buried in the backyard and morphed into her being sold into the sex industry. Riddled with grief, one day Caroline disappeared.

“What do we do now?”

Tyler settles back in his seat. “Let’s see if she’s at work.”

I know she won’t be, she works the late shift. But it’s worth a look. Maybe someone called in sick.