Ache For Me Read online

  “She's home now. Just returned from somewhere, parked in her garage and hasn't left.” Chris replied.

  “Good. You have someone watching her, then?”

  “You put her on our radar, Carter. She's home now, and we're on it.” He blew out a breath. “I know you're worried, but we are working on it, I promise. We're not gonna let you or her down.”

  “What if this isn't connected to Theo's murder?” The thought might've just occurred to him, but he wasn't letting it go.

  “I don't care if it is or isn't, Cart, I just want to find your woman.”

  He could get behind that. “Thanks, man.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Camryn took a deep breath. If she was alone in the garage, she had a chance to escape. She didn't know how, but she had little choice. Abandoning her original plan of trying to find the release catch, she instead kicked at the back seats, hoping she could force them open. If the seat folded or jarred loose, she could wiggle her way free. Maybe.

  She kicked and kicked, but the seat didn't budge. Just how old is this car? Changing tactics again, she focused on trying to free her hands. If she could work her hands free, she could find the latch and get herself out. She was flexible, surely she could get herself out of this situation. Who are you kidding? You're an actress, a dancer, a teacher even, but MacGyver? Yeah, no.

  Going back to kicking like a maniac, the seat began to give after what felt like a thousand kicks. Praying for a pass-through or a folding backseat, she kept at it. Finally, with a massive ripping noise, she lurched forward, the fabric of the seat giving way beneath her heels. Holding in a yelp of surprise, she kicked again, forcing her way through the seat, thoroughly fucking up the car she was stashed in. After too much time, weak light finally seeped into the trunk. She'd managed to make her way through at least a little bit, and resolved to keep going. It's not like I'm going anywhere. Thankful she'd remained in her dance shoes when she ordinarily would have changed into flats that didn't buckle around the ankle, she went back to her mission.

  After Lord knew how long she was exhausted, thirsty, and had to pee, but she'd created a hole she thought she might be able to wriggle through. It smelled like foam and pine air freshener, and she thought she was stuck for good more than once, but when she fell into the seat she almost cried again. She wished she were more of a contortionist so she could bring her hands in front of her, but finding the door handle with her hands behind her wasn't impossible. Operating it was a bit more of a challenge, but she made it work after seven tries and soon found herself on the floor of a dimly lit one car garage. Someone brought me home? She'd never kidnapped anyone, but bringing them home seemed like the wrong move. She shook her head. Wondering about her kidnapper wasn't getting her out of here. Squinting, she searched for a way out. She wanted to avoid the loud overhead door but would use it if necessary to get away. Squelching a yip of triumph, she crawled toward the back of the garage, to the door she spotted in the corner. Even with her ankles and wrists bound, she would find a way out of this place.

  The door was locked. Of course the door is locked. Turned backwards, she could reach the knob, but the lock was too high. She needed her hands free. There had to be something capable of cutting duct tape in this garage, right? She scanned the walls, finding a neatly organized pegboard with gardening tools. The shears would do the job. Can I do this without accidentally cutting my hands off? She crawled her way to the other wall, awkwardly standing on her bound feet and leaning heavily against the wall once she reached it. Thanking all the years of training her body, she blew out a long breath, wriggled her taped wrists between the slightly open blades of the shears and prayed she didn't impale herself trying to cut her way free.

  “Fuck!” Cam whispered as the blade sliced into the fleshy part of her thumb. Disengaging the shears from her hand, she moved a bit to the left to catch the tape. At least I know the blades are sharp. It wasn't long before the tape gave, and she had to brace herself before she fell forward, smearing her blood all over the wall. Sitting down, she tore at the ankle tape, getting it off her left side. She let it dangle, her legs and feet tingling as the feeling returned. She wasted no time running to the door, throwing the lock and scrambling outside.

  Where the hell am I? It was pitch dark aside from a sputtering streetlight across the way. Taking a deep breath, she started through the short lawn toward the road. Surely she could find someone to help her or at least a phone. She hadn't managed to get herself out of the trunk of that car to fail now.

  ~*~

  “Who saw her last?” Brandon asked again, working a theory.

  “Tabitha Fontaine and Holden Graves,” Tiffany answered, her blonde brows drawn. “They're both home, and neither is hiding Camryn Everett.”

  “Who questioned them?”

  “Peters.” She paused. “He's good.”

  “I know,” he replied, “I'm just thinking here. What if one of them was working with the kidnapper?”

  Her brows drew together again. “Teenagers?”

  “C'mon, Morgan, you know better than that. These kids are sixteen and fully capable of too many heinous things to mention.” He crossed to her. “We're going back out there.”

  “Where first?”

  “Carter Jamieson seemed to think Tabitha Fontaine was a little hero obsessed with Camryn, so let's start there.”

  “Works for me.”

  It didn't take long to drive to the Fontaine's home. When Mrs. Fontaine opened the door, she gave a pained expression. “You find her yet?”

  “Not yet. We're hoping you can help us,” Tiffany answered before he could.

  The older woman beckoned them inside. “Please, come in. Would you like a cup of coffee?”

  “Don't go to any trouble for us,” Brandon declined. “We were hoping Tabitha could walk us through her meeting with Miss Everett earlier this evening.”

  “She already told the story.”

  “I know she did, but we're really hoping she remembers something else. Sometimes the smallest thing is what breaks a case,” Tiffany explained. “Feel free to call your attorney if it makes you feel more comfortable. She's not in any trouble.”

  “I want to talk to them, Mom,” Tabitha said as she walked into the kitchen. “I want to help them find Miss Everett, and I think I do know something terrible.”

  “Please tell us,” he prodded, his tone as gentle as he could muster.

  “Remember the shooting?”

  “The school or the murder?” he asked, unsure where she was going with this.

  Her dark skin paled a few shades. “The school.” She swallowed. “Holden did that.”

  “What?” Tiffany's voice was calm, but he knew she was frantically working about a million angles in her head. “Why would he do such a thing?”

  Tabitha slumped into a chair. “He said he wanted to scare me into not going to New York like Miss Everett.” Her expression was one of pure confusion. “He thought if someone was after her, I'd stay here.”

  “You're still in high school.”

  “It's got to be the dumbest thing he's ever done,” Tabitha said, “and that includes a bunch of stuff I am not telling you about.”

  “Holden shot the school, but he didn't want to hurt Miss Everett?” Tiffany was leading the girl, and he wasn't about to stop her.

  “He said he wanted to scare me, that's all.”

  “Why was he at the studio?”

  “He came to meet me.” She gave them a strange look. “He said he wanted to apologize to her and take us out.”

  “Take you out?”

  “She didn't want to go with us.”

  Can't imagine why. “He was okay with her refusal?” He asked, inserting himself back into the conversation.

  Tabitha shook her head. “He's not into her that way. He just felt bad for making her think someone was trying to kill her.”

  Someone's holding her for ransom, so she's not doing so hot. “Did you leave together?”

  “H
e has a car, and my mom had dropped me at the studio, so...” she trailed off.

  “Right.” He brushed his hands down his thighs. “Thank you, Tabitha, Mrs. Fontaine. If you think of anything else, please call.”

  Tiffany squeezed the girl's shoulder as she walked by. “Thank you for helping.”

  “He's not in trouble, is he?”

  “He's done more than a few illegal things,” Tiffany replied, “but I'll see if I can convince them to go easy on him.”

  “Please,” the teen pleaded. “He's not bad. He's really not.”

  We'll see about that one. “Thanks again for helping,” he said as they made their way outside. Once they'd settled into the car, he didn't have to tell Tiffany where they were headed. Leanne and Holden Graves were getting another visit, and despite Tiffany's promise to Tabitha, he had no plans to go easy on the boy.

  ~*~

  “Dammit!” Carter threw his notebook across the room. “We're no closer to her now than we were an hour ago.”

  Walker placed the phone they'd just been using on the table, making sure the ringer was on full volume. “That's not true.”

  “No one's called since they told us they were headed back to the Fontaine's.” He heaved a sigh and bent to pick up his discarded notebook. “I don't know what to do.” His phone rang then, Chris Delmonico's face on the screen. “Chris?”

  “I'm at your back door.”

  He walked to the French doors off the kitchen, opening them just as his friend stepped through. “Why aren't you looking for Cam?”

  “I am,” the detective responded before filling him in on the conversation Tiffany had relayed to him about Tabitha and Holden. “I'm meeting Tiff and Davis at the Graves' house in a bit. Given what Tabitha said, it's about time we joined forces again. It's the best lead we've had.”

  “You know she's not with Tabitha Fontaine. You know Holden Graves was the one who put the bullet through the school.” Walker paused, pointing at Carter. “Hell, if the kid doesn't have your girl, you ought to thank him. That bullet is what finally tipped you over the edge.”

  “The fuck it did,” Carter denied, although he knew his brother was right. “He scared the shit out of everyone.”

  “We're most interested in finding Camryn. The rest will follow, but that's number one.”

  He was smart enough to know running around Tyler or Aylesford in the middle night while potentially being watched by a kidnapper wasn't the best choice. He felt impotent, but there wasn't much else he could do. “Bring her home to me.”

  ~*~

  “I didn't take Miss Everett,” Holden's eyes were huge, and Chris couldn't decide if that meant the boy was innocent or just blindsided. “Why would I take her?”

  “She and Mr. Jamieson are very rich,” Tiffany replied. “And Mr. Jamieson is willing to pay for her release.”

  “Don't say anything,” Leanne Graves interrupted.

  Tiffany shrugged. “Just stating a fact. He is willing to pay for her safe return.”

  “And I hope that's what happens, but Holden had nothing to do with any of that.”

  “Maybe not, but he did shoot a hole in the high school,” she redirected her gaze from mother to son, “didn't you, Holden?”

  The teen's head dropped, his blond hair covering his eyes. “Yes, ma'am.”

  Leanne's mouth opened, but she closed it before making more than a squeak.

  “Want to tell us about that?” Chris asked, straddling the chair closest to the boy.

  He mumbled something but didn't reply directly.

  “Make it easier on everyone and answer the question, boy,” Brandon Davis directed.

  “I need to call a lawyer. You can't question him without a lawyer.” Leanne shouted once she'd found her voice, throwing a wrench into the plans.

  “Mom,” Holden broke in, “I don't need a lawyer. I didn't hurt anyone.”

  Leanne shook her head, tears threatening to fall from her eyes. “You did something terrible, though.”

  “Vandalism, I think,” he countered. “It was a rifle which isn't illegal for me to shoot, and I didn't hurt anyone.”

  “Guns aren't legal on school property, no matter your age unless you're law enforcement,” Chris put in, “but if you want to call the lawyer and have him meet us, we can do that.” He paused, scanning the room before tacking on, “I'm sure you wouldn't mind us looking around, just to be sure she's not here, though.”

  “No,” Leanne replied, tacitly agreeing to a search due to the way he'd phrased the question. The three of them wasted no time looking, finding nothing but dust bunnies and cobwebs in little nooks and crannies when Tiffany asked about the detached garage.

  “It's a garage. It's got a car in it.” Leanne told them, her tone curt. “Don't go in there,” she cautioned.

  “Why not?”

  She tilted her head. “It's a wreck.”

  “I thought you said there was a car in there?” Running for the building, Chris found himself there first, forcing open the door and revealing a garage that looked how he expected most garages did. Full of boxes on one side and a car on the other. Opening the car door and popping the trunk, he found nothing aside from a roadside assistance kit, a blanket and a gallon of water. “Dammit.”

  “She's not here.” Holden stood in the doorway. “I told you I didn't take her.”

  Something flashed across the boy's face when he said it and Chris pushed, “But you think you know who did, don't you?”

  “My sister.”

  Every adult in the room wore matching confused expressions. “Your sister?”

  “You don't have a sister,” Leanne spat, obviously exasperated with the entire situation. “You don't even have any cousins.”

  Holden's shaggy blond hair flew when he shook his head vigorously. “I have a sister, Mom. She told me her mother had an affair with my father, but she didn't find out till this year.”

  “This sister of yours have a name, son?” Davis asked before Chris had a chance.

  “I only know her as Mzz4tune,” he answered. “She said she couldn't tell me who she was yet.” He glanced at his mother. “Said she could make your life better.”

  Leanne looked stricken. “How did she know who your dad was? I haven't even told you who he was.”

  “C'mon, Mom. I might be a jock, but it wasn't hard to figure out Theo was my sperm donor.” He stopped, his expression fierce. “I can't believe he never even tried to do anything for you.”

  “For me?”

  “Of course for you. He let you struggle to raise me, and he never even asked if I was his. Men like that should be shot—” He cut himself off when he realized what he'd said. “I mean... Shit. I didn't mean literally. I mean...” he trailed off again.

  “Stop talking now.” Leanne's voice was hard as granite.

  Tiffany took Holden's arm. “Where's the gun?”

  “Do not say another word, Holden Jacob Graves,” his mother threatened again, grabbing his other arm as she did.

  “The attic,” he answered despite his mother. “I didn't shoot him.”

  “But you think your sister did.” It wasn't a question, and Chris decided to call Randi Kavanaugh again. If the FBI was in town, they could help with whatever the fuck was going on. “She contacted you how? Online?”

  Leanne squeezed her son's arm, so instead of answering, Holden nodded.

  “We're gonna need access to your computer,” Tiffany said, picking up where he was going and running with it.

  “You're not doing another thing without an attorney here.”

  Tiffany's blue stare was icy as she glared at the other woman. “Dammit, Ms. Graves, Holden isn't going to jail. A woman's life hangs in the balance here. Just let me have his computer for a little while.”

  Leanne's eyes went wide. “He's not?”

  “Unless he killed Theo Richardson, then no, he's not. We've got more important things to worry about right now.” Tiffany's reply echoed his own thoughts. Charging the kid with a gun vio
lation would screw up his life. Helping to find his “sister” and Camryn Everett was much more important.

  “I don't want her to get in trouble,” Holden said quietly.

  “Even if she killed your father and kidnapped Miss Everett?” Davis's question was like a whip crack.

  The boy's expression fell. “She wouldn't...”

  “You don't know this woman—hell, you don't even know if it is a woman,” Davis snapped. “Where's your computer?”

  Chapter Fourteen

  “Now what?” Camryn said aloud to herself and an empty street. The houses all seemed to be abandoned, or at least neglected. She didn't have any survival skills, but that same special she’d watched about getting out of car trunks had told her to follow the power lines. There would be people somewhere along the route. She shook her head at herself. She was relying on an episode of 20/20 or something to ensure she lived to see tomorrow. Maybe I should've been a Girl Scout.

  She chose one direction and started walking, praying a car or a person walking a dog or jogging, or something would pass her. Her hand was bleeding badly, she had no idea where the hell she was, she was hungry, thirsty, groggy, exhausted, and still had to pee. She rolled her shoulders back. She needed a phone, or a ride, or to call 911, but in the meantime, she would walk. She would find her way home.

  She continued down the road, looking for someone—anyone—who could help her, wondering just where she'd been hidden away. It felt like the middle of the night, but without many streetlights, she figured the darkness could be deceiving. For all she knew it was anywhere between eleven at night and three in the morning. A bad time to be looking for people to be driving around and ready to help a random woman on the street. Cradling her injured hand, she trudged along. Eventually she'd reach a safer place.

  ~*~

  Tiffany typed something into a tiny black window on Holden's laptop, a roomful of people looking on as she did. Brandon wasn't sure how they all fit into the kid's bedroom, but there were two detectives, two Feds, and Tiffany along with Holden, his mother, and Ben Massey. The attorney and the Feds had arrived shortly after Holden's confession about a “sister.” Brandon shook his head to himself. Nothing that ever involved the Everetts was ever straight-forward.