Trapped (Private Justice Book #2): A Novel Read online

  “Yes. I turned her down, but I’m rethinking coffee. It’s been a long, sleepless weekend.”

  “Not a problem. Cream or sugar?”

  “Just cream, please.”

  “I’ll be back in a minute. Make yourself comfortable.”

  Once he disappeared out the door, Laura tried to follow his advice. She took a deep breath. Let it out slowly. Repeated the process as she scanned his office. Better. The vibrating hum in her nerves quieted, and the knot in her stomach loosened—thanks perhaps in part to the impressive ATF-related awards and honors on the walls that confirmed her favorable impression of James Devlin. Distinguished Service medal. Medal of Valor. Framed letters of commendation, including one to her left that included the words tenacious, professional, diligent, and courageous.

  That was just the kind of person it would take to track down Darcy, who’d left few clues.

  And her half sister needed tracking down.

  Because no matter how mature she thought she was, Darcy wasn’t anywhere close to being old enough to survive on her own. And Laura was counting on James Devlin and his Phoenix colleagues to help her find the runaway teen before she wound up in far deeper trouble than she’d ever encountered during her past forays into independence.

  Maybe he hadn’t drawn the short straw after all.

  As Dev poured a cup of coffee for Phoenix’s newest client, he grinned. While he hadn’t been psyched up to launch his week with a demanding case, when the client was as pretty as Laura Griffith . . . not so bad.

  He dumped a container of cream into the steaming brew and stirred, watching the dark color lighten to mocha. Interesting that he would find their new client appealing. Brunettes didn’t usually attract him. Not that her hair was a plain mousy brown or anything. Not with those gold highlights that glinted every time she moved. Too bad she wore it in that single French braid, becoming as the style was. He’d much prefer to see it loose and full. Still, the more severe style did draw attention to her long-lashed blue eyes, soft lips, and model-like high cheekbones.

  Still grinning, he straightened his tie, tossed the stir stick in the trash, and started toward the door. Even though Phoenix had an unwritten hands-off rule for active clients, there was no law against looking . . . and enjoying. Discreetly, of course.

  Discretion top of mind, he used the short return trip to his office to shift back into professional mode.

  After setting the coffee in front of Laura, he took his own seat. “So how can I help you, Ms. Griffith? Our office manager mentioned a runaway situation?”

  She knitted her fingers into a tight knot on top of the table. “Yes. My sixteen-year-old half sister, Darcy Weber. She left Friday. I verified she was in class all day, so it was sometime after three. I’m assuming she came home first, because she was only carrying her usual stuff when she caught the bus in the morning. I’ve called everyone I can think of, but I haven’t been able to find a trace of her.”

  “Did you notify the police?”

  “Yes, not that they appeared to be overly concerned. An officer came by, read the note she left, and took some basic information. He said all the precinct officers would be made aware of the situation and they’d put her in the National Crime Information Center database. They did follow up yesterday to see if I’d learned anything else or heard from her, but that’s about it.” She leaned forward, her knuckles whitening. “Shouldn’t they be doing more?”

  He hesitated, tempted to sugarcoat the truth and ease her anxiety with some vague reassurances.

  But he never lied to clients.

  “Police resources are always stretched thin, Ms. Griffith. A runaway won’t be their highest priority unless there’s a suspicion of foul play. However, since running away is a juvenile offense in Missouri if you’re under seventeen, they’ll do what they can. But their efforts will be constrained by staffing levels and more urgent cases. That’s why private investigation is a reasonable option in a situation like this. You mentioned a note?”

  “Yes.” Laura shifted sideways in her chair and dug through the purse she’d slung over the back. She withdrew a single sheet of paper and held it out, the vibration in the paper betraying the tremor in her fingers.

  He took it, flipped open the folded sheet, and read the brief note.

  Laura: This isn’t working out for either of us. I’ll be seventeen in four months, old enough to be on my own. So I’m heading out to meet up with a friend. Once I get settled and find a job, I’ll repay the money I took from the stash you keep in the shoe in your closet. Please keep my stuff and I’ll send for it down the road. Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine. This is better for both of us. No more rules for me, no more trouble for you. Thanks for trying.

  It was signed “Darcy” in a scrawling hand.

  Dev set the sheet of paper on the table and picked up his pen. “Based on that note, I’m assuming there were some problems on the home front.”

  “Yes.” Laura rubbed at the twin vertical lines etched above her nose. “Darcy and I had the same mother, who died three years ago. They lived in New York. Mom and I rarely visited in person because of distance and my limited vacation time, so Darcy and I were practically strangers. But when her father died four months ago, there was no one else to take her in. If I hadn’t offered, she’d have ended up in foster care.”

  “Admirable.”

  She dismissed his praise with a rueful shake of her head. “My intentions were good, but I had no idea what I was getting into. Darcy’s had a few minor problems since Mom died—truancy, a possible pot-smoking incident, a couple of drinking parties that got busted, another runaway attempt last summer that lasted all of twelve hours—but I thought I could handle her, maybe help her get her act together.” She sighed and stared into the dark depths of her coffee. “Talk about wishful thinking. We clashed from day one. Her dad was a lot older than our mom and not in the best of health his last year, and I’ve gathered she got away with a lot. I assume she expected to do the same here.”

  “And you didn’t let her.”

  “I tried not to let her, but she’s smart, and she’d already become adept at evasion tactics. If I told her to tone down her makeup for school, she stashed it in her locker and put it on there. I found that out one day when she forgot to take it off before she came home. If I told her to be back at seven, she’d push it to eight. That kind of thing.”

  “Was there a precipitating incident for this?” Dev gestured toward the note.

  “No. Nothing out of the ordinary happened. We argue almost every day about something. Thursday night we got into it about the length of her skirt and a paper she needed to finish that was due Friday.”

  Laura took a sip of coffee, wrapping her fingers around the mug as if trying to warm them. “Part of the problem is the New York City to St. Louis transition. That’s been tough for her. As far as I can tell, she hasn’t made any real friends here—nor tried very hard to connect. She thinks this is a cow town and everyone is 404.” Laura sighed. “I had to look that term up in the urban teen slang dictionary, by the way. It means a worthless person, place, or thing and comes from the web code for ‘web page not found.’ I’ve been spending a lot of time with that dictionary in the past four months.”

  Taking a sip of his own brew, Dev considered the information Laura had offered about her half sister. Fights with her guardian. Adjustment problems. The typical I’m-grown-up-and-can-take-care-of-myself attitude of many teenagers.

  It was the recipe for a runaway.

  “So this probably wasn’t a spur-of-the-moment decision.” Dev set his mug down. It was always more difficult when teens planned their exits versus leaving in a huff, as most did. “What did she take, other than the money she mentioned?”

  “Not much. Some clothing, her laptop, and a couple of photos from her dresser. Based on a quick kitchen inventory, I think she also made some sandwiches and took some granola bars. She left her cell phone, but she removed the SIM card.”

  Smart
kid. She’d eliminated the possibility of GPS tracking and left them with very little retrievable electronic data.

  “Okay. Tell me what you’ve already done to try and track her down.”

  Once more, Laura reached into her purse, removed a sheet of paper, and laid it on the table. “I went online and pulled up the log for her cell, which is billed to me. I’ve called all the numbers that appeared more than once in the past two months.”

  He gave the printout a quick skim. Most of the area codes were from New York—and one number dominated.

  “Who’s this?” He indicated the recurring number.

  “Darcy’s best friend, Brianna. She was the first one I called. If anyone would know Darcy’s plans, it would be her, but if she’s in on this, she’s not talking and I haven’t a clue how to reach her parents. I don’t even know her last name. Everyone at the other numbers I called seemed clueless.”

  “We can get the billing name for Brianna’s cell. I assume it’s her parents. I’ll call them, but they may want you to verify it’s okay to talk with me. Any problem if I give them your number?”

  “No.”

  “What about any contacts Darcy might have had here?”

  “The only name I found in her room was your office manager’s brother, which is why I’m here. When I called him last night, he passed the phone to her and she suggested I come by this morning if Darcy still hadn’t turned up.”

  Nikki had recommended Phoenix to Laura?

  Nice of her to tell him.

  Positioning the tablet in front of him, he picked up his pen. “Why don’t I get some basic information from you about Darcy and then we’ll talk next steps.”

  He ran through the usual checklist of questions—date of birth, social security number, height, weight, hair color and style, eye color, scars/tattoos, identifying mannerisms, glasses/contacts, preferred type of dress, past boyfriends, what she might have been wearing when she left. The butterfly tattoo on her left wrist was helpful. He put an asterisk beside that.

  “Did she have an ATM or credit card?”

  “No.”

  “Do you have a recent photo?”

  Once more, Laura dug into her purse. She pulled out two snapshots and handed them over.

  “I took that one at Christmas.” Laura leaned closer to view the first photo too, bringing with her a subtle sweet scent. “She was in an upbeat mood that day. I hoped it would last, that we’d mend our fences and start the new year on better terms. It would be nice to have some family ties again. I didn’t have any brothers or sisters, and my only relations are distant cousins I never see. Same with Darcy.”

  “No dice?” Dev studied the image. The blonde, blue-eyed teen, attired in jeans and a sweatshirt, was sitting on the floor with a Christmas tree behind her and smiling for the camera.

  “No. That happy little interlude lasted all of one day. The other photo is one I found in her dresser, taken in New York, I assume.”

  He shuffled the other photo to the top. It was a professional image, the sophistication of Darcy’s upswept hair, glitzy makeup, and somewhat suggestive attire more appropriate for a woman-of-the-world twenty-six than sweet sixteen.

  “Quite a transformation.”

  “I know. In that getup, she’d have no problem passing for midtwenties. And that could get her into a lot of trouble on the street.”

  So could looking sixteen. Maybe more so. But Dev let that pass. The woman beside him was already worried enough.

  “How would you describe her mental state?”

  Laura tipped her head, her expression pensive as another whiff of that faint, appealing scent wafted his way. He tried to ignore it. “Deep down, I think she’s still angry about Mom dying—and still grieving, even after three years. They had similar go-with-the-flow personalities and were very close. I also sense some guilt over her father’s death.”

  That piqued his interest. “Why would she feel guilty about that?”

  “He died of a heart attack a month after she ran away. He had heart issues anyway, but I have a feeling she suspects her escapades might have contributed to his demise.”

  So the situation was more complex than a simple defiance of house rules or an inappropriate show of independence. And anger, grief, and guilt could lead to compromised judgment and vulnerability.

  Bad combination.

  “Could she have been depressed too?”

  “It’s possible, though she hid it under a veneer of bravado if she was. I did try to get her to talk to a counselor at school when she first came, but she refused so I didn’t push. It wasn’t as if there were any serious problems here. No more truancy or pot smoking or alcohol-related incidents, just clashes on normal, everyday-life kinds of issues.”

  He caught a subtle glimmer in her eyes as she dipped her chin to pull a nonexistent piece of fuzz from the sleeve of her sweater. “Maybe I was too hard on her. Maybe my rules were old-fashioned, as she claimed. I can hardly remember being sixteen. Besides, it’s a different world now.”

  The whisper of tears in her voice tugged at his heart, and he blinked in surprise. That was weird. His standard procedure was to offer clients a sympathetic ear but limit personal involvement. For whatever reason, that tactic wasn’t working today. “I wouldn’t be too hard on myself if I were you. Kids like to push the limits. Sometimes parents—or guardians—have to be the bad guys. That whole tough love thing.”

  She flicked a glance at his left hand. “Do you have children?”

  “No. I’m not married, and I’m old-fashioned about that. No wife equals no kids.” He paused, frowning. Now where had that come from? Sharing personal information wasn’t part of his usual client spiel, either.

  Time to lighten the serious tone with a little humor.

  Leaning back in his chair, he adopted a more casual pose. “But I do remember being sixteen, and with this hair, trust me—I got into my share of scrapes. Kids like me need a firm hand, and I’m forever grateful to my mother for reining me in.”

  More personal revelations. His lips flattened. Okay, this had to stop. But at least some of the tension and uncertainty in Laura’s features had eased.

  “Thanks for saying that. Is there any other information I can give you that might help?”

  “How much money did Darcy take?”

  “Whatever small amount of cash she might have had on hand, plus my three hundred dollars.”

  “Your shoe money?”

  Pink spots appeared on her cheeks. “It’s a strange place to keep extra cash, isn’t it?”

  “I’ve heard stranger. A litter box, for one.”

  She wrinkled her nose. “Seriously?”

  “Yep. One of our clients told me he liked to put fifty-dollar bills there. He claimed he wrapped them in plastic, but I always washed my hands after any exchange of cash with him.”

  Her sudden smile blindsided him. The twinkle in her eyes lit up her face, chasing away the worry. Her lips softened and parted, revealing rows of even white teeth. Her features relaxed, giving him a glimpse of a different, carefree version of this woman.

  A woman who, under other circumstances, he might be interested in getting to know better.

  Not going to happen, buddy. She’s a client.

  Right.

  He forced himself to look back down at his notes. “With three hundred dollars and change, she won’t get far. Flying would eat up too much of her money, and she’d run into issues trying to buy a ticket at her age—unless she used a credit card and did it online?”

  Laura shook her head. “No charges have shown up on my card for any sort of transportation.”

  “Could someone have sent her a ticket or money?”

  “Maybe. But I don’t think she’s close enough to anyone here, and Brianna’s younger than Darcy. I don’t know how she’d manage to pull that off without alerting her parents. I do think New York is where Darcy is headed, though. She loves it there, and she knows the city well. I called Greyhound, but I didn’t get anywhere.
”

  “We can probably do better. And a bus would be my guess too. She could pay cash for a ticket with no questions asked. The only other possibility would be hitchhiking.” Laura’s complexion went a few shades paler, and Dev tacked on a caveat. “But in this weather, I’d say that’s unlikely. Not much is moving on the roads.”

  “I hope that’s true.” She tapped a finger against the handle of her mug, her expression thoughtful. “Besides, I can’t imagine Darcy hitching rides. She’s savvy about some of the seedier sides of life, as most New Yorkers are.” The words seemed meant to reassure her as much as him—but her next comment told him a lot of doubts remained. “I’ve been trying to think positive, to believe she’ll be okay even if it takes me awhile to find her. But tell me the truth—am I kidding myself?”

  Dev played with his pen. The simple answer was yes. Runaways faced threats on numerous fronts—drugs, gangs, alcohol, assault, to name a few. And the danger intensified the longer they stayed away, especially if they were wandering the streets. Theft—and worse crimes—could fast become a way of life as money ran low and desperation set in. Seventy-five percent of runaways who remained on the street for more than two weeks found themselves in big trouble.

  But as he looked into Laura’s anxious face, he couldn’t bring himself to share that disheartening statistic. There would be plenty of time to bring it up later, if his initial steps to find Darcy proved fruitless.

  “Not necessarily. Given the weather, she may have holed up somewhere with a friend you don’t know about, waiting for a break in the storm.”

  “I hope that’s true.”

  He did too—but he wouldn’t lay odds on it after all the stuff he’d seen.

  Before she could press him for further reassurance, he stood and moved to his desk. After retrieving a client contact form from a drawer, he passed it to her. “I’d appreciate it if you’d fill this out for our records. We always do a brief background check on new clients to help ensure our services aren’t being used for some illegal end.”