Just ahead, he pulled keys from his pocket and she thought it odd that he never looked back over his shoulder, never acted suspicious in any way.
He was totally unconcerned about being caught. It never crossed his mind that he would be stopped.
Heat crept up into her neck, then her cheeks, and her fingers curled into fists. Oh, he’d be caught all right. If it was the last thing she did, she’d make sure he was caught. Or dead. But how?
Rachel waited until he vanished inside the parking garage before picking up her pace. As she strained to go fast enough to keep him in sight, but slow enough not to call attention to herself, she faltered. What was she doing?
She couldn’t follow him, she didn’t have a car. But she might be able to get the license plate of whatever car he got into.
Yes. Then she’d turn it over to Chloe and she could send a team in to rescue Lindsey.
A plan firmly in mind, she stayed on his tail, trying to blend in and look as though she knew where she was going. If he looked back, he’d see her.
Just the thought turned her stomach. No, she didn’t want to do this. She was just a seventeen-year-old kid. Even if she got the plate, there was no guarantee they would be able to trace it. These guys stole cars all the time. Or at least the plates off cars.
She stopped walking and turned to run back toward the safety of the hospital. People passed her, walking around her while giving her irritated looks for her abrupt halt in the middle of the walkway.
And then Lindsey’s terrified face and pitiful cries echoed through her mind. No, she couldn’t leave her friend.
But what else could she do?
Keep going, get the plate. It was the only thing she could do. She did another one-eighty and hurried toward the garage.
As she crossed the street, her heart thundered in her chest. Should she stop someone? Tell them to call her father? No, that would take too long as well. Ignoring the pounding, she stepped into the cool interior of the parking garage and stopped. Listened. Looked toward the elevator.
She caught a glimpse of him just as he stepped into the stairwell. Rachel pressed a hand to her stomach as though that would help settle it, then hurried to follow. At the door, she paused, giving him time to climb, not wanting him to hear her footfalls. She counted to five, then opened the door and started up. His footsteps on the next level echoed back to her. And the sound of a door opening.
So, he was parked on level 2.
Rachel continued up the stairs to the landing and opened level 2’s door with caution. Part of her expected him to yank it open and snatch her. She shuddered at the mental image even as she scanned the area. A car alarm chirped.
Three people passed her from the stairwell and she ignored them, her eyes landing on the person she sought. He stopped at a red Suburban. Not too old, not too new, it blended with every other vehicle in the garage.
A sedan pulled to a stop and the driver called to Carson, who walked over to him.
It was now or never.
Rachel darted to the back of the SUV and noted the license plate.
Or the lack thereof.
Panic sliced through her.
The plate had been coated with mud and all she could make out were the first two letters. GN.
What now? Slipping forward, with one eye on the men, she swiped a hand across the mud.
It wouldn’t budge. What?
Chills danced down her arms once again. Paint. Great.
The two men continued their conversation and she thought she heard the word “auction.” Shivering, she debated. Then with her heart in her throat, she climbed in the open rear window.
The odor of paint hit her hard. That must have been why he had his window open in the middle of November. She hunched down amongst all the equipment. Paints and art supplies littered the back while a rack of paintings and empty frames took up most of the rest of the space. One large tarp lay crumpled to the side. She pulled it over her and prayed he wouldn’t need anything out of the back before she could escape.
Chloe stood still, phone in her hand, as she tried to wrap her mind around the fact that the girl with Penny’s shirt was Rachel MacCallum, Blake’s daughter.
Blake. She’d had a crush on him since she was twelve and had started noticing cute guys. She’d thought Blake was the cutest.
He and Linc were the same age, three years older than she, and had gone through high school together. And then Blake’s girlfriend, Aimee, had gotten pregnant with Rachel. He’d immediately married her at the age of seventeen, and that had been the end of Chloe’s childish dreams of happily ever after with him.
Fortunately, Rachel’s maternal grandparents had been loaded and they’d had nannies and babysitters so Blake and Aimee could finish college.
Blake and Linc had both majored in criminal justice, just at different schools. In spite of the marriage, in spite of the child, Blake had still found his way to the St. John table at least once a week. Sometimes he brought Rachel and sometimes he came alone. As far as Chloe could remember, Aimee had never come.
Slowly, Blake’s visits had tapered off until they ceased. Linc hadn’t said much, but Chloe figured something had happened. Something bad.
Then bits and pieces had filtered down to her and she’d filed the information away. Now she pulled it from the dusty mental file cabinet and thought about her teenage crush.
She hadn’t seen him in forever, even though she knew he and Linc got together on a regular basis now that both of them had returned to Columbia. She also knew they worked together occasionally, because her ears perked up each time Linc mentioned him.
At some point about four years ago, Blake’s wife had left him and had taken their daughter with her. It had been a nasty separation, and after an intense custody battle, Aimee was awarded primary custody of Rachel and Blake had thrown himself into his job with a vengeance.
And then Aimee had died in a car wreck and Blake had finally gotten custody of his then fourteen-year-old daughter.
Chloe glanced at the clock on the wall and frowned. Rachel had been gone a good fifteen minutes. She stepped outside and looked for a familiar face. And her eyes landed on one. Not the one she wanted to see. What was he doing here? His back was to her, but she recognized him instantly.
Jordan Crestwood. SWAT member, friend to Derek and Brady. Ex-boyfriend to Chloe. She grimaced and almost ducked back inside, but she needed to ask about Rachel.
“Hey, Eve,” she called to the nurse behind the desk.
“Yes?”
Jordan turned too.
“Have you seen the girl that walked out of here twenty minutes ago?”
“I saw her at the restroom door, but I got called away. It’s been a bit crazy around here, sorry.”
“I know.” Chloe walked down to the bathroom and knocked. “Rachel?”
No answer.
She tried again. “Rachel? You okay?”
More silence. With a bad feeling growing in her midsection, she tried the door and the knob turned easily. Chloe pushed the door open and stared into the empty bathroom.
“Hey, Chloe,” Jordan said from behind her. “It’s been a while.”
The bad feeling grew into a massive ball of dreaded certainty.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
“She’s gone.”
6
Blake pushed through the emergency room doors, absently noting the smell of antiseptic and cleaning product. All hospitals smelled the same, but only one held his daughter. He hurried to flash his badge at the woman who controlled the button that would let him in.
“It’s a regular law enforcement convention around here tonight,” she said.
Nodding his thanks, he headed to the back. Room 2, Chloe had said. He turned the corner and found her standing in the hall talking to Linc, two police officers, and hospital security. Linc straightened from his position against the wall.
“Where’s Rachel?” Blake asked.
Chloe turned, tension in every line of her body. “We don’t know.”
“What do you mean you don’t know!” All eyes turned on him. He took a deep breath. “Sorry. Sorry.”
Chloe took his arm and directed him toward the room. Linc followed.