Authors: Beverly Long
She turned to look at him. He was only a couple inches taller than her and had a slim build. He wore dirty army fatigues.
His hair was bleached blond and touched his shoulders. He had a straggly blond mustache. While there was little resemblance to the man she’d known, who had worn his dark hair and beard trimmed short and always had a pressed uniform, there was no doubt. He was Troy Blakely.
All this time, Cruz had been on the right track.
And with his hair blond and more of his bone structure visible, she saw something else that she recognized.
Her world started to go gray and she grabbed for the table behind her.
“It’s been a long time, Meg,” he said.
A very long time. “Hello, T.J.”
* * *
C
RUZ BEACHED HIS CAR
in the valet parking, ignoring the yells from the startled valets. He ran into the hotel, through the lobby, toward Meg’s office.
Tim Burtiss stood. “I didn’t know you were back, sir.”
“Where’s Meg?” Cruz asked.
“Mr. Slater’s office,” Tim answered.
Cruz took off running again, taking the steps to the third floor two at a time. When he got to Slater’s office, the receptionist wasn’t at her desk. He opened the inner-office door and Slater looked up from his desk.
“Where’s Meg?” Cruz asked.
“Get out,” Slater said.
“Where is she?” Cruz asked.
Slater shrugged his shoulders. “I have no idea. I haven’t talked to her all morning.”
Cruz got a very bad feeling. “Come with me,” he said. “Something is not right.”
To Slater’s credit, he didn’t argue. Just hurried down the hall with Cruz. When they got back to Meg’s office, Officer Burtiss stood again.
“Is Meg back?” Cruz asked hopefully.
“No, sir. Neither she nor Charlotte have returned.”
They were both missing? What the hell did Charlotte have to do with this?
Cruz opened the door. He searched Charlotte’s work area first. The light was on, as was her computer and there was a cup of coffee on her desk. Cruz felt the cup. Still warm.
He moved into Meg’s office. There was a yellow legal pad on her desk, filled with pages of notes. He glanced at them. Some kind of customer complaint. He pointed at the name. “See if this guest is still here,” he instructed Slater. Was it possible that Meg had simply left to personally resolve a problem?
While Slater was on the phone, Cruz kept looking. He saw the crumpled up note in Meg’s garbage and unfolded it. He read it.
Slater ended his call. “They checked out two days ago.”
Cruz showed the note to Slater. “You didn’t talk to Charlotte this morning?”
“No. What the hell is going on here?”
Cruz looked at Meg’s phone. He saw the voice mail light blinking and realized it was probably his frantic message. “I don’t know. But we need to find both of them.” He pulled out his cell phone to call Myers and fill him in. Before he dialed, he continued his instructions. “The police will be here soon. Get your security staff started on searching the hotel. Tell them to hurry.”
* * *
“
T
.
J
.,” SHE SAID
, working hard to keep her voice steady. She did not want him to know that her sudden knowledge had her insides twisting up in a painful knot.
He ran a hand through his long hair. “I hated having to cut my hair for that stupid job. And the beard itched like hell. But nobody would have ever known it. Because I was nice. Officer Friendly, that was me.” He laughed at his own joke. “Yes, Ms. Montoya. No, Ms. Montoya. Whatever you want, Ms. Montoya.”
“I’m sorry I didn’t recognize you,” she said, staring at his light brown eyes. Without the glasses and the blue eyes, it was easier to recognize him.
He laughed again. It was almost a cackle and it made him sound crazy. “Blue contacts. Weren’t they fabulous? I’ll bet you are sorry. I watched you every day and you had no idea.”
“How did you find me?”
“I went through my mother’s filing cabinet after she and my stepfather died. She had a copy of your wedding announcement. Once I had your married name, it wasn’t hard to find you, although I never expected you to be in Texas.”
He sprawled onto the dirty couch and motioned for her to sit in the lone straight-backed kitchen chair. “You’re some kind of big shot. You get your picture in the paper and everything.” He tilted his head down. “You know why you help convicts, Meg? Because you almost were one. They should have sent you to jail for what you did.”
She wasn’t sure what to say to that. “I’m sorry you lost your job at the hotel,” she said, searching for some way to turn him. “I could talk with our human resources manager and you could get it back. Start fresh.”
“I already told you it was a crappy job.” He got up and started to pace around her.
Okay. That probably wasn’t the right tactic. “How are your parents?” she asked.
He stopped suddenly. “My mommy is dead,” he said, as if he was five years old.
The hair on the back of her neck stood up. “I’m sorry to hear that, T.J.”
“Don’t call me that,” he yelled, lunging at her. He got so close that his spit hit her face. “You ruined everything. We lost everything because of you.”
“I was fifteen,” she said. “I’m sorry.”
“It doesn’t matter,” he said. “Now, you’re going to pay.” He kicked her chair, hard enough that it pushed her backward. “You sit right there,” he said. “Don’t move.”
She did as he instructed. And she took deep breaths, trying to quiet her racing heart.
Be smart. Be smarter than he is.
“Everybody loves Meg,” he said, in a singsong voice. “Even my own Nana. She tried to warn you. Said I was wrong to hate so much.” He gave her a big smile. “A couple days ago I gave her a taste of what would happen if she didn’t keep her mouth shut. Made sure she told the doctor she fell down the steps. Old ladies and broken hips don’t do so well together.”
She remembered Grandma Percy. She’d been the only Percy to offer any comfort to Meg. Had seemed to understand that Meg was as devastated as a person could be and still be standing. She’d been kind. And she’d doted on T.J.
Tried to warn you.
It had to have been her that had come to Meg’s office. And he’d hurt her.
She wanted to strike out, to punch him as hard as she could, but she thought of her baby and kept her arms hanging loosely at her sides.
* * *
D
ETECTIVE
M
YERS BROUGHT
a whole team to search the hotel. It paid off because they found Charlotte tied up, with duct tape across her mouth, in the fourth-floor janitor closet.
They peeled off the tape and she started spewing.
“He made me write the note. Said that he would kill me if I didn’t. Said he would kill my mother, too.”
“Who?” Cruz demanded.
“That crazy guy who used to work in security. He looked different but I recognized him. Blakely. Troy Blakely. Is Meg okay?”
Cruz couldn’t answer.
“We don’t know,” Detective Myers said.
“I’m sorry. He told me what I had to write on the note and then watched me as I slid it under the door. Then we went out the side door and came up here. He opened the door, told me to come inside and tied me up. I tried screaming and that’s when he put the duct tape over my mouth.”
Myers looked at Cruz. “We’ll find him.”
“You better find her fast,” Charlotte said, looking at Slater. “She’s pregnant.”
Cruz felt like he’d taken a punch in the stomach. He balled up his fist and turned toward Slater.
Slater held up his hand. “We
never
had that kind of relationship. Look, Meg doesn’t love me. She made that perfectly clear just last night. We’re not together. We’ve never been together and we never will be. She’s still in love with you.”
Cruz’s legs felt weak. He grabbed hold of a shelf to steady himself. Slater might be a jerk but he had always cared for Meg. He wouldn’t lie about something like this. And while his brain was processing that, it was also snapping with the realization that he and Meg had had exactly that kind of relationship. About a month ago. Holy hell.
Charlotte’s eyes filled with tears. She reached out for Slater’s hand. “I thought it was your baby. I hated her for that.” She turned to look at Cruz. “But I never would have hurt her.”
Cruz waved away the explanation. “How do you know she’s pregnant?”
The woman’s fair face turned pink. “I took my mother to the doctor and when we were leaving, I saw Meg leaving her doctor’s office. Early this morning, I saw a prescription for prenatal vitamins on her desk.”
I have something I need to tell you. It’s not an emergency.
Like hell it wasn’t. “Let’s go,” he said, looking at Myers. Meg was pregnant with his child and they were both in danger.
“Where?” Myers asked.
“I have his grandmother’s address, here in San Antonio. I’m hoping she can tell us something.”
They took Myers’s car and used both the lights and siren to speed around traffic. The house was a small ranch on a well-maintained street. There was no garage and no car in the narrow driveway.
Cruz ran up the sidewalk and knocked sharply on the front door. He waited twenty seconds and knocked again. Louder.
Myers stepped off the front porch and started looking in windows. The horizontal blinds were down but they were tilted enough to make the interior visible.
“Anything?” Cruz asked, knocking a third time.
“Nope. No lights on inside. Can’t see a whole lot but the place looks empty.”
Just then the front door of a neighboring house opened. A woman, probably in her late sixties, stepped onto the porch. “Can I help you?” she asked.
Myers stepped forward and flashed his badge. “We’re looking for Mrs. Percy.”
The woman shook her head sadly. “You’ll have to go to Lakeview Hospital. She was taken there by ambulance two days ago.”
“What happened?”
“She broke her hip.
Said
she fell down her basement steps.”
Cruz stepped forward. “You say that as if you don’t believe it.”
The woman shrugged. “I’m not accusing anybody of anything. All I’m saying is that Loretta Percy has been living in that house for twelve years and she’s never fallen down the basement stairs. But the one time her grandson visits, it happens. That seems like an odd coincidence to me.”
Cruz started running for the car. He could hear Myers on his heels. They made it to the hospital in less than fifteen minutes. They asked to speak to a charge nurse and they were quickly escorted into Loretta Percy’s room.
The woman was banged up. She had bruises and cuts on her face and arms. The rest of her body was covered by a sheet. Her eyes were closed.
“Mrs. Percy,” Cruz said, trying to keep the edge out of his voice.
The woman opened her eyes. “Yes,” she said.
“I’m Detective Cruz Montoya. I’m looking for your grandson, Troy Blakely.”
“What did he do?” she asked, her voice weak.
“I think he has my wife. Margaret Gunderson.”
The woman closed her eyes and seemed to shrink in her bed. “I’m sorry,” she said. “She’s a good girl.”
“We need to know where he is. Do you have any idea?”
She shook her head. “He lived with me up until a year ago. He changed after his mother died. They had had a big argument a few years back. He was very upset that they hadn’t reconciled before she died. My grandson has a tendency to blame others for his troubles. After his mother died, he became fixated on your wife. He said that everything that went wrong in his life started with her.”
Myers stepped forward. “Did he do this?” he asked.
The woman didn’t answer.
“Did you go to Meg Montoya’s office?” Myers asked. “To tell her about Troy?”
The woman nodded and licked her dry lips. “I could see that he was getting worse. All he talked about was that Meg had to pay for the trouble she’d caused. If it helps, he has my car. It’s a blue Ford Focus, a 2005.” She reached for the tablet and pen that was on the narrow tray table that swiveled over her bed. “Here’s the license plate number.” She shifted her eyes to Cruz. “You better find her fast.”
Chapter Twenty
It took Myers less than a minute to get the word out. Every cop on the street was going to be looking for the car.
“Now what?” Myers asked.
“We’re going back to the only place I know that he’s been to recently.”
It took them twelve minutes. The front door was locked and the restaurant was dark inside. It wouldn’t be open for several hours. “Back door?” Myers asked.
Cruz led the way through the alley. He didn’t bother to knock on the screen door, just pushed it open and walked into the kitchen. There were two men, one stirring something in a big pot, the other cutting up raw chicken. They started yelling in some foreign language.
Myers flashed his badge and they got quiet.
“We don’t want to cause you any trouble,” Cruz said. “I’m looking for the woman who waitresses here. Thin. Blond hair. Thirties. I want her name and address.”
The two men looked at each other. The man cutting up the chicken gave the other a curt nod. The man stirring the soup stopped.
“Abby Breese. She lives just down the street, in the three-story building at the corner.”
The man’s English was pretty good. Cruz nodded his thanks and took off running. He could hear Myers behind him. The building was old, dirty and smelled bad. There was carpet in the foyer that had likely been there twenty years.
The scratched and dented mailboxes at the entrance indicated that A. Breese lived on the third floor. Cruz ran up all three flights. He knocked sharply and waited impatiently. Finally, the door opened.
It was the woman he was looking for. She didn’t look surprised to see him and he figured one of the guys from the restaurant had called to warn her.
“Detective Montoya,” she said.
“I want to know if you’ve recently seen Troy Blakely. It’s important.”
She stared at Cruz. “He’s done something bad, hasn’t he?” she asked.
Cruz hoped not. “I don’t know.”
“I saw him earlier this week.”
“At the restaurant.”