Dana Mentink - Race to Rescue

Booker glanced at the map with a frown. “That’s no-man’s-land. Did he go alone?”

Leeman cleared his throat. “We have no idea. He never bothered to keep us apprised of his actions. We’ll certainly let you know if we hear from him. Now if you’ll excuse us, we have some layouts to look at.”

Anita stood. “Mr. Leeman, you don’t seem to have much regard for my brother. It’s almost as if you’re glad he’s gone. When I was here in the spring, you never once mentioned problems with Drew.”

“That would have been a betrayal of privacy, I believe, and, anyway, during your last visit we were concerned with saving an endangered colony of bats, as I recall.” He shot Booker a look of triumph before he gave Anita an apologetic nod. “To be perfectly honest, Ms. Teel, your brother didn’t fit in well here at Wild World. As a matter of fact, I intended to let him go after the erosion piece was done.”

Booker heard her inhale sharply. He couldn’t squash a surge of satisfaction. About time she saw Leeman’s dark side.

“And did my brother know that? That you were going to fire him?”

Leeman gave her a polite smile. “I have no idea. I’m sorry, I must get to another meeting. Trust me that we will provide the police with whatever help they require to find your brother.”

Booker trailed Anita out to the truck. She looked as if she didn’t know whether to scream or cry. Even Ace’s enthusiastic lick didn’t bring a smile to her face.

She shook her head. “They act like they’re happy he’s gone.”

“Leeman did, anyway.”

“He seemed like a different person than the man I worked with before.”

“Maybe you were too focused on your crusade to get a clear picture of him.”

Anita jerked. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He clamped his jaw together. A fight would only complicate things, distract them from getting the problem solved and her out of his life. He took a deep breath and stared out the window while the engine idled. “Nothing. I think we’d better go check out your brother’s apartment right now.”

Her eyes widened. “Why? What’s wrong?”

He swiveled his gaze to her face. “We need to figure out if Drew really did go to The Painted Cliffs.”

“Where is it, anyway? You said it was no-man’s-land.”

“It’s a place the drug runners use to ferry their stuff over the border.”

She gasped. “Drug runners?”

“Uh-huh.” He pulled out onto the main road. “If he’s there, he really is in trouble.”

Booker squelched an odd sense of foreboding as they made it to Drew’s apartment building on the edge of town. The setting sun was reduced to a few amber-colored rays, which painted the whole complex—a long strip of fifteen units strung together—in an eerie glow. Each unit featured a metal front door and the same striped awning over the dust-covered windows.

Booker followed her into the super’s office, the uneasy feeling growing with every minute. The tiny, birdlike woman was reluctant to hand over the key at first. “The guy’s a deadbeat. Hasn’t paid this month’s rent. I ought to hand the matter over to the police.”

“If we find Drew, you can collect that rent he owes you,” Booker reminded her.

Finally the lady gave in and handed over the key, promising to check in on them after her soap opera was finished. Anita grabbed it and hurried ahead of him to Drew’s door.

As it swung open, she gasped and stumbled backward against his chest. He squeezed her protectively for a moment, feeling her tremble as she regained her balance. Catching a glimpse of the apartment over her shoulder, he gently placed her behind him and entered. “Stay here,” he commanded.

Keeping as quiet as he could, he did a careful walk through the mess, checking every closet as he did so. He found her in the front room when he returned.

Her cheeks were flushed, eyes bright with fear and unshed tears. “What happened here?”

The small apartment had been completely ransacked. It had only two rooms; one featured a futon and a small worktable, and had an adjoining bathroom. The other was the kitchen. The entire place had been tossed and dumped. All the drawers were opened and upended on the floor. The furniture was overturned, and bits of splintered wood showed where the rickety frames had given out. Even the canisters of sugar and flour in the kitchen were emptied all over the linoleum.

There was no sign of Drew’s laptop or camera equipment, Booker noted as he quickly dialed the police and filled them in. An old Sports Illustrated cover served as a wall decoration: Michael Jordan smiling down on the room. Even that had been torn away from the wall at one corner. Somebody had been very thorough.

Anita prowled the small space, taking a sweatshirt from its spot over the back of the wooden chair and pressing it to her face. Tears glinted in her eyes.

Booker stopped dead, feeling his heart squeeze at the stricken look on her face. Part of him wanted to wrap his arms around her, and the other part, the other part wanted to run. He settled for putting a hand gently on her arm. “You all right?”

She dashed the tears from her cheeks and turned away from him. “Yes, yes, of course I am. Are the police on their way?”

He nodded. “They’ll be along when they can.” He held up a box of granola bars, empty except for one, and a lone water bottle. “I found these in the kitchen. If I had to guess, I’d say he packed up some supplies before he left. There’s a can of peanuts on the table, too, sort of like he couldn’t fit it into his pack.” He hesitated. “Any chance he went out for some recreation, target practice, maybe?”

“No. Drew hates guns. He could never bear to shoot my father’s pistol, even.” She sank down onto the futon. “What does it mean? Who would want to trash his place? Do you think he ran into trouble from the drug runners?”

“Doesn’t help to jump to conclusions. Let’s leave here before we disturb any more evidence, and then we’ll come up with a plan for tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow? I want to go look for him tonight. He might be hurt, or worse.”

“No.”

“No? Why not? I know you’re mad at me, but don’t take it out on my brother.”

“I’m not doing anything of the kind, Anita. Just listen for once.” Booker held up a hand and kept his voice level, meeting those intense brown eyes full-on. “We can’t go there at night, not without some prior planning. It’s just too dangerous, and Drew wouldn’t want you doing a fool thing like that.”

She looked down at her tightly clasped hands and he wondered if she was going to listen to reason.

“I guess you’re right,” she said finally. “I’ll rent another car in the morning and go then.”

“Never mind that. I’ll take you.” He was surprised that the words spilled so readily from his mouth.

She blinked. “Why would you do that?”

Yeah, why would you do that, Booker? He gritted his teeth. Because I’m completely insane, he wanted to tell her. Out of my mind to get involved with you again, when the smallest memory of you still makes me crazy. He understood the anger she kindled inside him, the hurt. What he couldn’t wrap his mind around was the strong need that rose in his gut, the need to protect her, in spite of everything.

He cleared his throat and pointed to a small cardboard box next to the television. “Because your brother also packed those.”

Anita read the printing on the box aloud.

“Techshot Pistol Cartridges. Low Recoil.”

The nicest hotel in Rockridge happened to be the only one in that small town. Anita tried to ignore the feelings of déjà vu that plagued her as she checked in. The room was clean, painted in soothing shades of green, and the bed was relatively comfortable. Nonetheless, Anita slept only in fits and starts, waking several times fighting off a feeling of terror. The question kept burning at her. What was Drew doing with a gun? Where had he gone, and why hadn’t he called her again? Who destroyed his apartment?