Lisa Gardner - Gone

“Rainie’s strong. She’ll find her way back. ’Least that’s what I like to tell myself.”

“Do you have any idea what might have happened last night? Who might have grabbed her?”

He shook his head. “I’ve been thinking about it ever since Shelly Atkins called. Sure, we have some boys around here who aren’t adverse to underhanded ways of earning a buck. But kidnapping and ransom… That’s a serious crime. Involves planning, logistics, face time with the victim. Frankly, most of our boys are too lazy. They’d rather plant a few ‘medicinal herbs’ in the woods or start a lab on the farm. And as for the violent ones, I hate to say it, but that’s why they have wives.” Luke grimaced. Kimberly could read his thoughts. The world was filled with sons of bitches, and here he was, basically a good man, only to find himself dumped on by his wife. “Do you know where she was last seen?” he asked.

“Not yet. We’re working on it, of course.”

“If it was a bar…”

“No telling who she might have met, including someone from out of town,” Kimberly filled in for him.

“Exactly. Of course, Rainie liked to drive, especially when she was upset. Maybe she didn’t go anyplace at all. In which case…”

“We’re back to it could be anyone.” Kimberly stood, stretching out her legs. “I’ll be honest, Luke, we don’t think it was a stranger-to-stranger crime.”

Luke frowned, rising off the coffee table, staring at her curiously. “But I thought, when Shelly called… She said the note had been mailed before the actual abduction, that the man basically committed to grabbing a female before he ever snagged Rainie.”

“That was how things looked in the beginning. But we’ve had some new developments since then. The UNSUB has grabbed a second person-”

“Who?”

“Dougie Jones.”

“Dougie Jones?”

“Now how many out-of-towners could make that connection? And he delivered a particularly personal token with the news.”

Kimberly watched Luke steel himself, stomach muscles tightening, jaw clenching, as if preparing for a blow. If he was acting, then he was very, very good.

She said, “The UNSUB cut off Rainie’s hair.”

“No!”

Kimberly nodded thoughtfully. “If this guy’s watched too many movies, you’d think he’d go for a finger, or maybe an ear. Hair is almost too innocuous. Except…”

“Rainie has the most beautiful hair,” Luke filled in softly.

“Her one vanity. It seems like a particularly intimate thing to do.”

“Ah, Jesus.” Luke sat down again, hard, on the edge of the table. Coffee sloshed over the edge of his cup, splattering his jeans. He didn’t seem to notice. “So you’re searching for a man, probably local. Somebody who’s looking to make a quick buck-”

“Not necessarily. Quincy thinks the ransom may be incidental. The UNSUB’s goal isn’t a conclusion-receiving money-but the process itself and the feeling of control it gives him over Rainie and the task force.”

Luke closed his eyes. He sighed heavily, and when he opened his eyes again, he looked to Kimberly as if he’d aged years. “Then Quincy is missing the obvious.”

“The obvious?”

“You’re looking for a man who knows Rainie. Someone with a personal reason to hurt her and the Bakersville Sheriff’s Department.”

“The sheriff’s department?”

“Oh yeah, most definitely. You’ve been looking at recent changes in Rainie’s life, the most obvious being that she’s resumed drinking. And that’s diverted your attention, had you looking at seedy bars and drunken strangers. But what’s the other major change? Rainie and Quincy returned to Bakersville. Rainie came home and now she’s in trouble.”

Kimberly shook her head. “I still don’t get it.”

“Didn’t she ever tell you she killed a man?” Luke’s tone was even.

“Oh no…”

“Lucas Bensen was listed as missing for nearly fifteen years. It was only eight years ago that Rainie confessed to killing him when she was sixteen and burying his body. The case officially went to trial, and Rainie was found innocent due to the mitigating circumstances-Lucas had raped Rainie, then shot her mother when she tried to intervene. Naturally, next time Rainie saw Lucas looming outside her door, she shot first and questioned later.”

“I’ve heard the story. It’s still not something that’s easy for her to talk about.”

“Point is, Rainie confessed, Rainie produced the body, then Rainie left town.”

“You think now that she’s returned, Lucas has risen from his grave?”

He looked at her curiously. “Not Lucas, of course. But didn’t Rainie ever tell you? The man had a son.”

Tuesday, 8:26 p.m. PST

SHELLY ATKINS HATED COFFEE. This was not something one admitted in law enforcement. Stakeouts, long nights, early mornings, bitter, foul coffee was always the brew of choice. Frankly, it didn’t look the same when you whipped out your box of herbal tea.

Shelly couldn’t afford to look different. She was a woman commanding in a male-dominated world. In the good-news/bad-news department, at least she wasn’t pretty. She had broad shoulders, muscled arms, and stocky legs. She could plow a field, churn a vat of butter, and heft a calf. Around these parts, men respected that sort of thing.

She still wasn’t wife material, however. Or maybe she hadn’t met the right man. Who knew? But Shelly had given her youth to farming. Her adulthood, she was keeping for herself.

Now, she left the command center in the conference room, walking out into the main lobby. This time of night, the building was deserted, doors closed to the public, Fish and Wildlife officers done for the day. She moved into a corner dominated by a slab of tree trunk and a beautifully mounted rack of antlers. There, she fished around in her chest pocket for her packet of chamomile tea, then plunked it into her cup of hot water. She put the lid back on, ripped off the dangling tag from the tea bag, and no one was the wiser.

Everyone had their little secrets, Shelly thought wryly, then was somewhat saddened that this was as good as hers got. She was nearly fifty years old, for God’s sake. Sometime soon, she was going to have to run off to Paris and sleep with a painter, just to keep herself from being totally boring in old age. Maybe in Paris, she would be considered exotic. Their own women were so pale, wraithlike. Surely there was a painter somewhere on the Left Bank who would enjoy the challenge of painting the last of a dying breed-the quintessential American farm wife. She would strap a plow to her back. She would pose nude.

It would give her something to remember during all the sleepless nights to come. I, Shelly Atkins, once sipped from the cup of life. I, Shelly Atkins, for at least one moment, felt beautiful.

“Penny for your thoughts.”

Quincy’s voice came out of nowhere.

“Holy shit!” Shelly exclaimed. She jerked the cup of hot tea away from her body, so at least she only sprayed it on the floor. Her heart thundered in her chest. She had to take several deep breaths before her hands would stop shaking.

“Sorry,” Quincy said contritely. He moved into view and she realized he had followed her from the conference room. He looked better now than he had an hour ago. Composed again, some color infusing his cheeks, his posture erect. Hell, he looked downright handsome, which was not a thought Shelly wanted to be having right now.

Shelly knew more about Quincy than he’d want her to know. She was a bit of a true-crime junkie, and when she’d heard through the grapevine there was a genuine retired profiler in her community, naturally she’d dug up everything she could find on the man. Gruesome cases, fascinating stories. She’d spent the past few weeks trying to work up the courage to approach him. She would love to hear about his work, pick his brain on major cases. She didn’t know how to introduce herself, however, without coming off as some kind of FBI groupie. Which maybe she was.