Lisa Gardner - Before She Disappeared

“She was posing as Livia. Trying to protect her from . . . someone.”

“And it took that someone three months to realize he had the wrong girl? That’s not a very bright someone. Besides, if you’re a criminal who wants to move in on their new and improved fake ID business, wouldn’t you just grab both of them?”

I have to think about it. “If Livia is the design genius behind their operation, then she’d be more valuable than Angelique. Maybe that’s why she appeared so scared. Maybe Angelique volunteered to take the meeting in Livia’s place. When the bad person discovered the subterfuge, they kept Angelique and used her as leverage to force Livia to work for them.”

“Then why take Livia three months later?”

“Ummm . . . coercion only works so long? Or operations had grown so fast they needed Livia at their immediate disposal? Maybe they have Livia shut up somewhere, designing a million fake IDs a day, I don’t know. And Livia’s now the collateral being held against Angelique. Hence Angelique has resurfaced to perform other, smaller tasks, because as long as they have Livia, they know she’ll return to them.”

“There’s a lot of assumptions in that theory,” Lotham informs me. “On the other hand, playing the girls off each other is a tried-and-true strategy. Used by human traffickers everywhere. In fact, it’s often easier to kidnap two people rather than just one, as it gives the kidnapper more leverage over both of them.”

“Those poor girls,” I murmur. “For Angelique this whole thing probably started as a way to strike back against the asshat that hurt her bestie. For Livia, maybe it was all about impressing her new friend, inserting herself deeper into Angelique’s world. And for their troubles, the two of them have now been kidnapped, while most likely being forced to engage in some kind of criminal activity, license forgeries, something. I don’t know if I could handle that kind of stress. Especially eleven months later.”

Lotham nods, arrives at last by the side door of Stoney’s. “So, to recap, we have the victims, Angelique Badeau and Livia Samdi. We have a possible criminal activity—fake IDs. Which still feels small potatoes to me. Thousands a month, versus the hundreds of thousands that can be netted through drugs. So who would be into something like that and have enough incentive to kidnap and hold two teenage girls for nearly a year?”

“What about this brother? Not Johnson. The other Samdi brother who appeared at the rec center?”

“The tall, sinister guy?” Lotham shrugs. “I’ll do some asking around. Chances are the gang taskforce has a name.”

“I saw him.”

“You saw him?”

“The first time I visited Boston Academy. Skinny Black dude, with a fashion sense that’s at least twenty years out of date. I’d just wrapped up talking to Kyra and Marjolie when I spotted him across the street. He was watching me.”

Lotham turns in the driver’s seat, his shoulders massive in the confined space. “And you were going to mention this when?”

“What was there to mention? I was at a public school in Roxbury and a Black guy stood across the street. Hello, there’s a shocker. Frankly, he had more grounds to report the strange white woman accosting students in the corner deli. I didn’t realize his presence had any kind of significance. Let alone that he might be Livia Samdi’s long-lost brother. For that matter, I didn’t know about Livia Samdi. But he definitely knew I was there.” I hesitate. “I might have seen him a second time, as well.”

“Where?”

“Outside the Samdi house, when I was being shot at.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

“I wasn’t exactly paying attention to the scenery. I was hightailing it down a sidewalk trying to save my sorry ass. But for a moment, out of the corner of my eye, I thought I saw him across the street.”

“In other words, where the shot was fired from.” Lotham sounds beyond pissed off. I’m not exactly sure why, given I was the one who’d been the target.

“It’s possible,” I allow.

“I’m gonna send techs back to the scene. Have uniforms perform a fresh canvass.”

“Nobody’s gonna say a thing. Especially if it’s some mysterious scary older brother.”

Lotham shakes his head. His mouth is set in a grim line. “You’re here tonight?” He gestures to Stoney’s.

“Till midnight.”

“I don’t want you out by yourself. You need to attend a meeting, call me. If I can’t come, I’ll send a patrol car.”

“To drive me to AA? Wow, talk about making a statement.”

“Frankie . . .”

But I’ve had enough. There’s only so much of this kind of male fretting I can take. I have been on my own for a long time. And I’m not an idiot.

“I’m gonna go to work,” I inform him. “Then, given the day, I’ll probably retreat upstairs to my studio apartment and incredibly hostile roommate. Forget a guard dog. I dare any evildoer to take on Piper. That cat bites first, asks questions later.”

“Call me when you’re done with work,” Lotham orders.

“You call me .” Now I am being a bitch, but I don’t care.

“If that’s what you prefer.”

“And what will you be doing this evening?”

“Running down financial accounts for Tamara Levesque and a family tree for Livia Samdi.”

“Do you think you might need an attack cat?”

“I’m a police detective, for the love of God—”

“And I’m a woman who’s lived in more scary neighborhoods than you’ll ever get to visit. We both have our skills.”

“Frankie—”

“Lotham.”

“I wish I understood you.”

“Detectives like puzzles. Which means the moment you figure me out . . .”

“I’m not as shallow as you seem to think.”

“And I’m not so complicated. I’m here to find a missing teen, which is now two missing teens. This is what I do. I am experienced, and I have handled situations like this before. These kinds of cases . . .” I shrug. “They always involve secrets and there’s generally at least one person willing to kill to keep those secrets safe.”

“Do you carry a gun?”

“I have a whistle. A very loud whistle. Though if it helps, Stoney has a baseball bat behind the bar.”

“Take it upstairs with you tonight.”

“Fine.” I glance at my watch. Three thirty. “I gotta go.” I pop open the door, climb out onto the sidewalk.

“Frankie,” Lotham calls from the driver’s seat. “Be careful, okay? Just, be careful.”

“Back at you.”

I shut the car door and head to work.

Stoney is not happy with my late arrival.

“Sorry, sorry, sorry,” I say.

He gives me a look. The look. No one likes that look.

I don’t provide an explanation or an excuse. I already know it doesn’t matter. Instead, I do the best damage control I can: I get to work, and I work fast. Thirty minutes later, when the front doors open and the first wave of locals arrive, I’m already pouring spicy cocktail peanuts and pulling beers. Today, I get a few nods in recognition. Not words yet, but physical acknowledgment that I’m still here. I’ll take it.

The night busies up. Which is all well and good in my world. I don’t want or need the constant buzz of too many thoughts in my head.

Nine p.m., the first break arrives. I head back to the kitchen long enough to request a garden salad from Viv. She looks me up and down.

“You’re not getting laid.”

“Sorry.”

“Whatdya waiting for? No man’s gonna be better looking.”

“Don’t tell your husband that.”

A snicker. “Enjoy your salad. But live a little, too. Life’s too damn short, or haven’t you heard?”